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HISTORICAL  MEMORIALS  OF  CANTERBURY 


/ 


HISTORICAL  MEMORIALS 


OF 

CANTERBURY 


The  Landing  of  Augustine 
The  Murder  of  Becket  Edward  the  Black  Prince 
Becked s  Shrine 

BY 

ARTHUR  PENRHYN  STANLEY,  D.D. 

Hate  Dean  of  OTestmmgtcr 

FORMERLY  CANON  OF  CANTERBURY 


SECOND  AMERICAN  FROM  THE  ELEVENTH  LONDON 
EDITION 


Wttfj  illustrations 


NEW  YORK 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY 


(INCORPORATED) 

182  Fifth  Avenue 


gStiftersttg  33ress : 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


TO  THE  VENERABLE 


BENJAMIN  HARRISON, 

ARCHDEACON  OF  MAIDSTONE  AND  CANON  OF  CANTERBURY, 

IN  GRATEFUL  REMEMBRANCE  OF  MUCH  KINDNESS, 
THESE  SLIGHT  MEMORIALS  OF  THE  CITY  AND  CATHEDRAL 
WHICH  HE  HAS  SO  FAITHFULLY  SERVED 
ARE  INSCRIBED  WITH  SINCERE  RESPECT 


BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  — LANDING  OF  AUGUSTINE  AND  CONVERSION  OF 
ETHELBERT. 

The  five  landings,  21 ;  Gregory  the  Great,  23-27 ;  Dialogue  with  the 
Anglo-Saxon  slaves,  28,  29 ;  Mission  of  Augustine,  30,  31 ;  Land¬ 
ing  at  Ebbe’s  Fleet,  32-34. 

Ethelbert  and  Bertha,  34 ;  St.  Martin’s  Church,  35 ;  Interview  of 
Ethelbert  and  Augustine,  36-39  ;  Arrival  of  Augustine  at  Canter¬ 
bury,  39,  40;  Stable-gate,  41;  Baptism  of  Ethelbert  and  of  the 
Kentish  people,  41,  42  ;  Worship  in  the  Church  of  St.  Pancras,  43  ; 
First  endowment  in  the  grant  of  the  Cathedral  of  Canterbury,  45  ; 
Monastery,  library,  and  burial-ground  of  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey, 
47  ;  Foundation  of  the  Sees  of  Rochester  and  London,  49 ;  Death 
of  Augustine,  50 ;  Reculver,  52  ;  Death  of  Ethelbert,  52. 

Effects  of  Augustine’s  mission  :  Primacy  of  Canterbury,  53,  54  ;  Ex¬ 
tent  of  English  dioceses,  55 ;  Toleration  of  Christian  diversities, 
56  ;  Toleration  of  heathen  customs,  57-59 ;  Great  results  from 
small  beginnings,  59-62. 


II.  — MURDER  OF  BECKET. 

Variety  of  judgments  on  the  event,  67,  68 ;  Sources  of  information, 
69,  70. 

Return  of  Becket  from  France  :  Controversy  with  the  Archbishop  of 
York  on  the  rights  of  coronation,  71-73 ;  Parting  with  the  Abbot 
of  St.  Albans  at  Harrow,  74  ;  Insults  from  the  Brocs  of  Saltwood, 
75 ;  Scene  in  the  cathedral  on  Christmas  Day,  76,  77. 

Fury  of  the  king,  79 ;  The  four  knights,  80 ;  Their  arrival  at  Salt- 
wood,  83  ;  at  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey,  83 ;  The  fatal  Tuesday,  84, 
85  ;  The  entrance  of  the  knights  into  the  palace,  86. 

Appearance  of  Becket,  87  ;  Interview  with  the  knights,  88-94 ;  Their 
assault  on  the  palace,  95. 


X 


CONTENTS. 


Retreat  of  Becket  to  the  cathedral,  95 ;  Miracle  of  the  lock,  96 ;  Scene 
in  the  cathedral,  97,  98  ;  Entrance  of  the  knights,  99  ;  The  transept 
of  “The  Martyrdom,”  101,  102. 

Meeting  of  the  knights  and  the  Archbishop,  103  ;  Struggle,  104,  105  ; 
The  murder,  106-109;  Plunder  of  the  palace,  110;  The  storm, 
110. 

The  dead  body,  111  ;  The  watching  in  the  choir,  112 ;  The  discovery 
of  the  haircloth,  112,  113  ;  The  aurora  borealis,  114. 

The  morning,  115;  Unwrapping  of  the  corpse  and  discovery  of  the 
vermin,  115,  116;  Burial  in  the  crypt,  117;  Desecration  and  re¬ 
consecration  of  the  cathedral,  118  ;  Canonization,  119. 

Escape  of  the  murderers,  120  ;  Turning-table  at  South  Mailing,  121 ; 
Legend  of  their  deaths,  121-123 ;  Their  real  history,  124 ;  More- 
ville,  Fitzurse,  Bret,  Fitzranulph,  125,  126  ;  Tracy,  126-131  ;  Pic¬ 
torial  representations  of  the  murder,  131-133. 

The  king’s  remorse,  133-135 ;  Penance  at  Argenton,  Gorham,  and 
Avranches,  136,  137  ;  Ride  from  Southampton,  139  ;  Entrance  into 
Canterbury,  140  ;  Penance  in  the  crypt,  140,  141 ;  Absolution,  142  ; 
Conclusion,  144-146. 

III.  — EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 

Historical  lessons  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  150  ;  The  tombs,  151. 

Birth  of  the  Black  Prince,  152;  Union  of  hereditary  qualities,  153; 
Education  at  Queen’s  College,  Oxford,  153,  154;  Wycliffe,  155. 

Battle  of  Cressy,  155-159;  Name  of  “Black  Prince,”  159;  Battle  of 
Poitiers,  160-163. 

Visit  to  Canterbury,  164 ;  “  Black  Prince’s  Well  ”  at  Harbledown,  164  ; 
“  King  John’s  Prison,”  164. 

Marriage  —  chantry  in  the  crypt,  165  ;  “Fawkes’  Hall,”  166  ;  Spanish 
campaign,  166  ;  Return  —  sickness,  167  ;  Appearance  in  Parliament, 
167  ;  Death-bed,  168,  169;  Exorcism  by  the  Bishop  of  Bangor, 
170;  Death,  171. 

Mourning,  171,  172;  Funeral,  173,  174;  Tomb,  175-179;  Effects  of 
the  Prince’s  life:  (1)  English  and  French  wars,  181  ;  (2)  Chivalry 
—  sack  of  Limoges,  182,  183  ;  (3)  First  great  English  captain,  and 
first  English  gentleman,  184-186. 

Appendix. 

1.  Ordinance  for  the  two  Chantries  founded  by  the  Black 

Prince  in  the  Undercroft  of  Christ  Church,  Canterbury, 
187. 

2.  The  Will  of  the  Black  Prince,  194. 

Notes  by  Mr.  Albert  Way,  203. 


CONTENTS. 


xi 


IV.—  THE  SHRINE  OF  BECKET. 

r 

Comparative  insignificance  of  Canterbury  Cathedral  before  the  murder 

\  of  Becket,  220. 

Relative  position  of  Christ  Church  and  St.  Augustine’s,  221-223  ; 

|  Change  effected  by  Archbishop  Cuthbert,  224. 

Effect  of  the  “  Martyrdom,”  226  ;  Spread  of  the  worship  of  Saint 

I  Thomas  in  Italy,  France,  Syria,  227  ;  in  Scotland  and  England, 

f  228,  229 ;  in  London,  230. 

Altar  of  the  Sword’s  Point,  231 ;  Plunder  by  Roger  and  Benedict,  232. 

The  tomb  in  the  crypt,  233  ;  Henry  II.,  Louis  VII.,  Richard  I.,  John, 
233,  234. 

Erection  of  the  Shrine,  234;  The  fire  of  1174,  234  ;  William  of  Sens 
and  William  the  Englishman,  235 ;  Enlargement  of  the  eastern 
end,  238;  The  Watching  Chamber,  238. 

The  translation  of  the  relics  in  1220,  239  ;  Henry  III.,  Langton,  239, 
240. 

Pilgrimages,  243 ;  Approach  from  Sandwich,  243 ;  Approach  from 
Southampton,  244 ;  The  “  Pilgrims’  Road,”  244 ;  Approach  from 
London,  245 ;  Chaucer’s  Canterbury  Tales,  245-250. 

Entrance  into  Canterbury,  251,  252;  Jubilees,  253;  The  inns,  255  ; 
The  Chequers,  256 ;  The  convents,  257. 

Entrance  into  the  cathedral,  258. 

The  nave,  259  ;  The  “  Martyrdom,”  260 ;  The  crypt,  261  ;  The  steps, 
263 ;  The  crown,  265 ;  The  Shrine,  265-269 ;  The  Regale  of 
France,  270. 

The  well  and  the  pilgrims’  signs,  272-274;  The  dinner,  275;  The 
town,  275;  The  return,  276. 

Greater  pilgrims,  276  ;  Edward  I.,  276  ;  Isabella,  276  ;  John  of  France, 
277. 

Reaction  against  pilgrimage,  278  ;  The  Lollards,  278  ;  Simon  of  Sud- 
burv,  279  ;  Erasmus  and  Colet,  280-283  ;  Scene  at  Harbledown, 
284. 

Visit  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Charles  V.,  286. 

The  Reformation,  287  ;  Abolition  of  the  festival,  287  ;  Cranmer’s 
banquet,  288  ;  Trial  of  Becket,  289-292  ;  Visit  of  Madame  de  Mon¬ 
treal,  293 ;  Destruction  of  the  Shrine,  294 ;  Proclamation, 
295. 

Conclusion,  301. 

Note  A.  —  Extracts  from  the  “  Polistoire  ”  of  Canterbury  Cathedral, 
305. 

Note  B.  —  Extracts  from  the  “  Travels  of  the  Bohemian  Embassy  ”  in 
1465,  309. 


CONTENTS. 


xii 

Note  C.  —  Extracts  from  the  “  Pelerino  Inglese,”  314. 

Note  D.  — The  “Pilgrims’  Road,”  by  Mr.  Albert  Way,  316. 

Note  E.  —  The  Pilgrimage  of  John  of  Prance,  by  the  same,  323. 

Note  F.  —  Documents  from  the  Treasury  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  re¬ 
lating  to  the  Shrine  of  Becket,  with  Notes  by  the  same,  326. 

I.  —  Grants  of  William  de  Tracy  and  of  Amicia  de  la  More,  326. 

II.  —  The  “Corona”  of  Saint  Thomas,  331. 

III.  —  Miraculous  cures  at  the  Shrine  of  Saint  Thomas,  337. 

Note  G.  — The  crescent  in  the  roof  of  the  Trinity  Chapel,  343. 

Note  H.  —  The  painted  windows  commemorating  the  miracles  of 
Becket,  347. 

Note  I.  —  Becket’s  Shrine  in  painted  window,  Canterbury,  354. 


FULL-PAGE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Canterbury  Cathedral . Frontispiece 

The  Monument  of  Archbishop  Tait  ...  To  face  page  xv 

The  Cloisters . 21 

The  Cathedral,  Southwest  Corner . 45 

St.  Augustine’s  Gateway . 67 

The  East  Choir . 99 

The  Transept  of  the  Martyrdom . 109 

The  Crypt . 121 

The  Lady  Chapel . 146 

The  Crypt,  Gabriel  Chapel . 165 

The  Gateway . 186 

Tomb  of  the  Black  Prince . 202 

The  Warrior’s  Chapel,  Tombs . 219 

Trinity  Chapel . 238 

Norman  Porch . 258 

The  Cathedral,  Exterior . 281 

The  Cathedral,  South  Side . 303 

The  Baptistery . 316 

The  Cathedral,  Lady’s  Chapel . 327 


ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  TEXT. 


PAGE 

Map  of  the  Isle  of  Thanet  at  the  Time  of  the  Land¬ 
ing  of  Saint  Augustine . 64 

Plan  of  the  Cathedral  at  the  Time  of  the  Murder 

of  Becket . 96 

The  Crypt . 141 

The  Tomb  of  the  Black  Prince . 175 

Relics  of  the  Black  Prince  suspended  over  the  Tomb  .  .  .  178 

Enamelled  Escutcheons  on  the  Tomb  of  the  Black  Prince  207-208 
Representation  of  the  Black  Prince,  illustrating  the  Canopy  over 

the  Tomb . . 213 

Canopy  of  the  Black  Prince’s  Tomb . 180 

Becket’s  Shrine . 267 

Representation  of  Becket’s  Shrine  in  a  Painted 

Window . 355 


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INTRODUCTION. 


HE  following  pages,  written  in  intervals  of  leisure 


-L  taken  from  subjects  of  greater  importance,  have 
nothing  to  recommend  them,  except  such  instruction 
as  may  arise  from  an  endeavor  to  connect  topics  of 
local  interest  with  the  general  course  of  history.  It 
appeared  to  me,  on  the  one  hand,  that  some  additional 
details  might  be  contributed  to  some  of  the  most  re¬ 
markable  events  in  English  history,  by  an  almost  ne- 
cessary  familiarity  with  the  scenes  on  which  those 
events  took  place ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  it  seemed 
possible  that  a  comparative  stranger,  fresh  from  other 
places  and  pursuits,  might  throw  some  new  light  on 
local  antiquities,  even  when  they  have  been  as  well 
explored  as  those  of  Canterbury. 

To  these  points  I  have  endeavored,  as  nearly  as 
possible,  to  limit  myself.  Each  of  the  four  subjects 
which  are  here  treated  opens  into  much  wider  fields 
than  can  be  entered  upon,  unless  as  parts  of  the 
general  history  of  England.  Each,  also,  if  followed 
out  in  all  its  details,  would  require  a  more  minute 
research  than  I  am  able  to  afford.  But  in  each,  I 
trust,  something  will  be  found  which  may  not  be  alto¬ 
gether  useless  either  to  the  antiquary  or  to  the  his¬ 
torian,  who  may  wish  to  examine  these  events  fully 
under  their  several  aspects. 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


Other  similar  subjects,  if  time  and  opportunity  should 
be  granted,  may  perhaps  be  added  at  some  future  pe¬ 
riod.  But  the  four  here  selected  are  the  most  im¬ 
portant  in  themselves,  as  well  as  the  most  closely 
connected  with  the  history  of  Canterbury  Cathedral. 
I  have  accordingly  placed  them  together,  apart  from 
other  topics  of  kindred  but  subordinate  interest. 

The  first  Essay  is  the  substance  of  a  lecture  delivered 
at  Canterbury  in  1854,  and  thus  partakes  of  a  more 
popular  character  than  so  grave  a  subject  as  the  con¬ 
version  of  England  would  naturally  require.  Eor  the 
reasons  above  stated,  I  have  abstained  from  entering 
on  the  more  general  questions  which  the  event  sug¬ 
gests,  —  the  character  of  Gregory  the  Great ;  the  rela¬ 
tion  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  to  the  British  Church;  and 
the  spread  of  Anglo-Saxon  Christianity.  My  purpose 
was  simply  to  exhibit  in  full  detail  the  earliest  tradi¬ 
tions  of  England  and  Canterbury  respecting  the  mis¬ 
sion  of  Augustine,  and  the  successive  steps  by  which 
that  mission  was  established  in  Kent.  And  I  have 
endeavored  by  means  of  these  details  to  illustrate  the 
remote  position  which  Britain  then  occupied  in  relation 
to  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world,  and  the  traces  which 
were  left  in  the  country  by  the  Roman  civilization, 
then  for  the  first  time  planted  among  our  rude  Saxon 
forefathers. 

The  second  Essay,  which  originally  appeared  in  the 
“Quarterly  Review,”  September,  1853,  has  been  since 
considerably  enlarged  by  additional  information,  con¬ 
tributed  chiefly  through  the  kindness  of  friends.  Here, 
again,  the  general  merits  of  the  controversy  between 
Henry  II.  and  Becket  have  been  avoided;  and  my 
object  was  then  simply  to  give  the  facts  of  its  closing 
scene.  Eor  this,  my  residence  at  Canterbury  provided 


INTRODUCTION. 


XVII 


special  advantages.  The  narrative  accordingly  pur¬ 
poses  to  embrace  every  detail  which  can  throw  any 
light  on  the  chief  event  connected  with  the  history  of 
the  cathedral.  In  order  to  simplify  the  number  of 
references,  I  have  sometimes  contented  myself  with 
giving  one  or  two  out  of  the  many  authorities,  when 
these  were  sufficient  to  guarantee  the  facts.  Of  the 
substantial  correctness  of  the  whole  story,  the  remark¬ 
able  coincidences  between  the  several  narratives,  and 
again  between  the  narratives  and  the  actual  localities, 
appear  to  me  decisive  proofs. 

The  third  Essay  was  delivered  as  a  lecture  at  Can¬ 
terbury,  in  July,  1852.  Although,  in  point  of  time, 
it  preceded  the  others,  and  was  in  part  intended  as 
an  introduction  to  any  future  addresses  or  essays  of 
a  similar  kind,  I  have  removed  it  to  a  later  place  for 
the  sake  of  harmonizing  it  with  the  chronological  order 
of  the  volume.  The  lecture  stands  nearly  as  it  was 
delivered;  nor  have  I  altered  some  allusions  to  our 
own  time,  which  later  events  have  rendered,  strictly 
speaking,  inapplicable,  though  perhaps,  in  another 
point  of  view,  more  intelligible  than  when  first  writ¬ 
ten.  Poitiers  is  not  less  interesting  when  seen  in  the 
light  of  Inkermann,  and  the  French  and  English  wars 
receive  a  fresh  and  happy  illustration  from  the  French 
and  English  alliance.  There  is,  of  course,  little  new 
that  can  be  said  of  the  Black  Prince ;  and  my  chief 
concern  was  with  the  incidents  which  form  his  con¬ 
nection  with  Canterbury.  But  in  the  case  of  so 
remarkable  a  monument  as  his  tomb  and  effigy  in  the 
cathedral,  a  general  sketch  of  the  man  was  almost 
unavoidable.  The  account  of  his  death  and  funeral 
has  not,  to  my  knowledge,  been  put  together  before. 

The  fourth  Essay  is  the  substance  of  two  lectures 


XV111 


INTRODUCTION. 


delivered  at  Canterbury  in  1855.  The  story  of  the 
Shrine  of  Becket  was  an  almost  necessary  comple¬ 
ment  to  the  story  of  his  murder ;  its  connection  with 
Chaucer’s  poem  gives  it  more  than  local  interest ;  and 
it  brings  the  history  of  the  cathedral  down  to  the 
period  of  the  Reformation.  Some  few  particulars  are 
new ;  and  I  have  endeavored  to  represent,  in  this  most 
conspicuous  instance,  the  rise,  decline,  and  fall  of  a 
state  of  belief  and  practice  now  extinct  in  England, 
and  only  seen  in  modified  forms  on  the  Continent. 

In  the  Appendix  to  the  last  two  lectures  will  be 
found  various  original  documents,  most  of  them  now 
published  for  the  first  time,  from  the  archives  of  the 
Chapter  of  Canterbury.  For  this  labor,  as  well  as  for 
much  assistance  and  information  in  other  parts  of  the 
volume,  I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  my  friend 
and  relative,  Mr.  Albert  Way.  He  is  responsible  only 
for  his  own  contributions  ;  but  without  his  able  and 
ready  co-operation  I  should  hardly  have  ventured  on 
a  publication  requiring  more  antiquarian  knowledge 
and  research  than  I  could  bestow  upon  it ;  and  the 
valuable  Notes  which  he  has  appended  to  supply 
this  defect  will,  I  trust,  serve  to  perpetuate  many 
pleasant  recollections  of  his  pilgrimages  to  Canterbury 
Cathedral. 

In  publishing  a  new  edition  of  these  Memorials,  with 
a  few  slight  corrections,  I  cannot  forbear  to  lament 
the  loss  of  the  two  distinguished  archaeologists  whose 
names  so  often  occur  in  these  pages,  —  Albert  Way  and 
Professor  Willis. 


August,  1875. 


THE  LANDING  OF  AUGUSTINE, 

AND 


CONVERSION  OF  ETHELBERT. 


The  authentic  materials  for  the  story  of  the  Mission  of  Augustine 
are  almost  entirely  comprised  in  the  first  and  second  books  of  Bede’s 
“  Ecclesiastical  History/’  written  in  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  cen¬ 
tury.  A  few  additional  touches  are  given  by  Paul  the  Deacon  and 
John  the  Deacon,  in  their  Lives  of  Gregory  the  Great,  respectively 
at  the  close  of  the  eighth  and  the  close  of  the  ninth  century ;  and  in 
jElfric’s  “  Homily  on  the  Death  of  Gregory  ”  (a.  d.  990-995),  trans¬ 
lated  by  Mrs.  Elstob.  Some  local  details  may  be  gained  from  “  The 
Chronicles  of  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey,”  by  Thorn,  and  “  The  Life  of 
Saint  Augustine,”  in  the  “  Acta  Sanctorum  ”  of  May  26,  by  Gocelin,  — 
both  monks  of  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey,  one  in  the  fourteenth  and  the 
other  in  the  eleventh  century,  —  but  the  latter  written  in  so  rhetorical 
a  strain  as  to  be  of  comparatively  little  use  except  for  the  posthumous 
legends. 


HISTORICAL 


MEMORIALS  OF  CANTERBURY. 


THE  LANDING  OF  AUGUSTINE,  AND  CON¬ 
VERSION  OF  ETHELBERT. 


Lecture  delivered  at  Canterbury,  April  28,  1854. 
HERE  are  five  great  landings  in  English  history, 


A  each  of  vast  importance,  —  the  landing  of  Julius 
Caesar,  which  first  revealed  us  to  the  civilized  world, 
and  the  civilized  world  to  us ;  the  landing  of  Hengist 
and  Horsa,  which  gave  us  our  English  forefathers  and 
our  English  characters ;  the  landing  of  Augustine, 
which  gave  us  our  Latin  Christianity ;  the  landing  of 
William  the  Conqueror,  which  gave  us  our  Norman 
aristocracy;  the  landing  of  William  III.,  which  gave 
us  our  free  constitution. 

Of  these  five  landings,  the  three  first  and  most  im¬ 
portant  were  formerly  all  supposed  to  have  taken  place 
in  Kent.  It  is  true  that  the  scene  of  Caesar’s  landing 
has  been  removed  by  the  present  Astronomer-Royal  to 
Pevensey ;  but  there  are  still  strong  arguments  in  favor 
of  Deal  or  Hythe.  Although  the  historical  character 
of  Hengist  and  Horsa  has  been  questioned,  yet  if  they 
landed  at  all  it  must  have  been  in  Thanet.  And  at 


22 


THE  El  YE  LANDINGS. 


any  rate,  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  close  connection  of 
the  landing  of  Saint  Augustine  not  only  with  Kent,  but 
with  Canterbury. 

It  is  a  great  advantage  to  consider  the  circumstances 
of  this  memorable  event  in  our  local  history,  because 
it  takes  us  immediately  into  the  consideration  of  events 
which  are  far  removed  from  us  both  by  space  and  time ; 
events,  too,  of  universal  interest,  which  lie  at  the  be¬ 
ginning  of  the  history  not  only  of  this  country,  but  of 
all  the  countries  of  Europe,  —  the  invasion  of  the  North¬ 
ern  tribes  into  the  Roman  Empire,  and  their  conversion 
to  Christianity. 

We  cannot  understand  who  Augustine  was,  or  why 
he  came,  without  understanding  something  of  the  whole 
state  of  Europe  at  that  time.  It  was,  we  must  remem¬ 
ber,  hardly  more  than  a  hundred  years  since  the  Roman 
Empire  had  been  destroyed,  and  every  country  was  like 
a  seething  caldron,  just  settling  itself  after  the  invasion' 
of  the  wild  barbarians  who  had  burst  in  upon  the  civ¬ 
ilized  world,  and  trampled  down  the  proud  fabric  which 
had  so  long  sheltered  the  arts  of  peace  and  the  security 
of  law.  One  of  these  countries  was  our  own.  The 
fierce  Saxon  tribes,  by  whomsoever  led,  were  to  the 
Romans  in  Britain  what  the  Goths  had  been  in  Italy, 
what  the  Vandals  had  been  in  Africa,  what  the  Franks 
had  been  in  France ;  and  under  them  England  had 
again  become  a  savage  nation,  cut  off  from  the  rest  of 
the  world,  almost  as  much  as  it  had  been  before  the 
landing  of  Julius  Caesar.  In  this  great  convulsion  it 
was  natural  that  the  civilization  and  religion  of  the 
old  world  should  keep  the  firmest  hold  on  the  country 
and  the  city  which  had  so  long  been  its  chief  seat. 
That  country,  as  we  all  know,  was  Italy,  and  that 
city  was  Rome.  And  it  is  to  Rome  that  we  must 


GREGORY  THE  GREAT. 


23 


now  transport  ourselves,  if  we  wish  to  know  how  and 
from  whence  it  was  that  Augustine  came,  —  by  what 
means,  under  God,  our  fathers  received  the  light  of 
the  Gospel. 

In  the  general  crash  of  all  the  civil  institutions  of 
the  Empire,  when  the  last  of  the  Caesars  had  been 
put  down,  when  the  Roman  armies  were  no  longer 
able  to  maintain  their  hold  on  the  world,  it  was  natu¬ 
ral  that  the  Christian  clergy  of  Rome,  with  the  Bishop 
at  their  head,  should  have  been  invested  with  a  new  and 
unusual  importance.  They  retained  the  only  sparks  of 
religious  or  of  civilized  life  which  the  wild  German 
tribes  had  not  destroyed,  and  they  accordingly  remained 
still  erect  amidst  the  ruins  of  almost  all  besides. 

It  is  to  one  of  these  clergy,  to  one  of  these  Bishops 
of  Rome,  that  we  have  now  to  he  introduced ;  and  if, 
in  the  story  we  are  about  to  hear,  it  shall  appear  that 
we  derived  the  greatest  of  all  the  blessings  we  now 
enjoy  from  one  who  filled  the  office  of  Pope  of  Rome, 
it  will  not  he  without  its  advantage,  for  two  good  rea¬ 
sons  :  First,  because,  according  to  the  old  proverb,  every 
one,  even  the  Pope,  must  have  his  due,  —  and  it  is  as 
ungenerous  to  deny  him  the  gratitude  which  he  really 
deserves,  as  it  is  unwise  to  give  him  the  honor  to  which 
he  has  no  claim  ;  and,  secondly,  because  it  is  useful  to 
see  how  different  were  all  the  circumstances  which 
formed  our  relations  to  him  then  and  now,  —  how, 
although  bearing  the  same  name,  yet  in  reality  the 
position  of  the  man  and  the  office,  his  duties  towards 
Christendom,  and  the  duties  of  Christendom  towards 
him,  were  as  different  from  what  they  are  now,  as 
almost  any  two  things  are  one  from  the  other. 

It  is,  then,  on  Gregory  the  Great  that  we  are  to  fix 
our  attention.  At  the  time  we  are  first  to  meet  him. 


24 


GREGORY  THE  GREAT. 


he  was  not  yet  Pope.  He  was  still  a  monk  in  the 
great  monastery  of  St.  Andrew,  which  he  had  himself 
founded,  and  which  still  exists,  on  the  Cselian  Mount 
at  Pome,  standing  conspicuous  amongst  the  Seven 
Hills,  —  marked  by  its  crown  of  pines,  —  rising  imme¬ 
diately  behind  the  vast  walls  of  the  Colosseum,  which 
we  may  still  see,  and  which  Gregory  must  have  seen 
every  day  that  he  looked  from  his  convent  windows. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  at  length  the  good 
and  evil  of  his  extraordinary  character,  or  the  position 
which  he  occupied  in  European  history,  almost  as  the 
founder  of  Western  Christendom.  I  will  now  only 
touch  on  those  points  which  are  necessary  to  make  us 
understand  what  he  did  for  us  and  our  fathers.  He 
was  remarkable  amongst  his  contemporaries  for  his 
benevolence  and  tenderness  of  heart.  Many  proofs 
of  it  are  given  in  the  stories  which  are  told  about 
him.  The  long  marble  table  is  still  shown  at  Pome 
where  he  used  to  feed  twelve  beggars  every  day. 
There  is  a  legend  that  on  one  occasion  a  thirteenth 
appeared  among  them,  an  unbidden  guest,  —  an  angel, 
whom  he  had  thus  entertained  unawares.  There  is 
also  a  true  story,  which  tells  the  same  lesson,  —  that 
he  was  so  much  grieved  on  hearing  of  the  death  of  a 
poor  man,  who  in  some  great  scarcity  in  Pome  had 
been  starved  to  death,  that  he  inflicted  on  himself  the 
severest  punishment,  as  if  he  had  been  responsible  for 
it.  He  also  showed  his  active  charity  in  one  of  those 
seasons  which  give  opportunity  to  all  faithful  pastors 
and  all  good  men  for  showing  what  they  are  really 
made  of,  during  one  of  the  great  pestilences  which  rav¬ 
aged  Pome  immediately  before  his  elevation  to  the  pon¬ 
tificate.  All  travellers  who  have  been  at  Pome  will 
remember  the  famous  legend,  describing  how,  as  he 


GREGORY  THE  GREAT. 


25 


approached  at  the  head  of  a  procession,  chanting  the  Lit¬ 
any,  to  the  great  mausoleum  of  the  Emperor  Hadrian, 
he  saw  in  a  vision  the  Destroying  Angel  on  the  top  of 
the  tower  sheathing  his  sword ;  and  from  this  vision, 
the  tower,  when  it  afterwards  was  turned  into  the 
Papal  fortress,  derived  the  name  of  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo.  Nor  was  his  charity  confined  to  this  world. 
His  heart  yearned  towards  those  old  pagan  heroes  or 
sages  who  had  been  gathered  to  their  fathers  without 
hearing  of  the  name  of  Christ.  He  could  not  bear  to 
think,  with  the  belief  that  prevailed  at  that  time,  that 
they  had  been  consigned  to  destruction.  One  especially 
there  was,  of  whom  he  was  constantly  reminded  in 
his  walks  through  Kome, — the  great  Emperor  Trajan, 
whose  statue  he  always  saw  rising  above  him  at  the 
top  of  the  tall  column  which  stood  in  the  market¬ 
place,  called  from  him  the  Eorum  of  Trajan.  It  is 
said  that  he  was  so  impressed  with  the  thought  of 
the  justice  and  goodness  of  this  heathen  sovereign,  that 
he  earnestly  prayed,  in  St.  Peter’s  Church,  that  God 
would  even  now  give  him  grace  to  know  the  name  of 
Christ  and  be  converted.  And  it  is  believed  that  from 
the  veneration  which  he  entertained  for  Trajan’s  mem¬ 
ory,  this  column  remained  when  all  around  it  was  shat¬ 
tered  to  pieces ;  and  so  it  still  remains,  a  monument 
both  of  the  goodness  of  Trajan  and  the  true  Christian 
charity  of  Gregory.  Lastly,  like  many,  perhaps  like 
most  remarkable  men,  he  took  a  deep  interest  in  chil¬ 
dren.  He  instructed  the  choristers  of  his  convent 
himself  in  those  famous  chants  which  bear  his  name. 
The  book  from  which  he  taught  them,  the  couch  on 
which  he  reclined  during  the  lesson,  even  the  rod  with 
which  he  kept  the  boys  in  order,  were  long  preserved 
at  Rome;  and  in  memory  of  this  part  of  his  life  a 


26 


GREGORY  THE  GREAT. 


children’s  festival  was  held  on  his  day  as  late  as  the 
seventeenth  century.1 

I  may  seem  to  have  detained  you  a  long  time  in 
describing  these  general  features  of  Gregory’s  charac¬ 
ter.  But  they  are  necessary  to  illustrate  the  well- 
known  story  2  which  follows,  and  which  was  preserved, 
not,  as  it  would  seem,  at  Rome,  but  amongst  the  grate¬ 
ful  descendants  of  those  who  owed  their  conversion  to 
the  incident  recorded.  There  was  one  evil  of  the  time, 
from  which  we  are  now  happily  free,  which  especially 
touched  his  generous  heart,  —  the  vast  slave-trade  which 
then  went  on  through  all  parts  of  Europe.  It  was  not 
only,  as  it  once  was  in  the  British  Empire,  from  the 
remote  wilds  of  Africa  that  children  were  carried  off 
and  sold  as  slaves,  but  from  every  country  in  Europe. 
The  wicked  traffic  was  chiefly  carried  on  by  Jews  and 
Samaritans ; 3  and  it  afterwards  was  one  especial  object 
of  Gregory’s  legislation  to  check  so  vast  an  evil.  He' 
was,  in  fact,  to  that  age  what  Wilberforce  and  Clark- 

1  Lappenberg’s  History  of  England  (Eng.  tr. ),  i.  130. 

2  The  story  is  told  in  Bede,  ii.  1,  §  89,  and  from  him  is  copied,  with 
very  slight  variations,  by  all  other  ancient  mediawal  writers.  It  has 
been  told  by  most  modern  historians,  but  in  no  instance  that  I  have 
seen,  with  perfect  accuracy,  or  with  the  full  force  of  all  the  expressions 
employed.  As  Bede  speaks  of  knowing  it  by  tradition  (“traditione 
majorum  ”),  he  may,  as  a  Northumbrian,  have  heard  it  from  the  families 
of  the  Northumbrian  slaves.  But  most  probably  it  was  preserved 
in  St.  Augustine’s  monastery  at  Canterbury,  and  communicated  to 
Bede,  with  other  traditions  of  the  Kentish  Church,  by  Albinus,  Abbot 
of  St.  Augustine’s  (Bede,  Pref.  p.  2).  As  the  earliest  of  “  Canterbury 
Tales,”  it  seemed  worthy  of  being  here  repeated  with  all  the  illustra¬ 
tions  it  could  receive.  There  is  nothing  in  the  story  intrinsically  im¬ 
probable  ;  and  although  Gregory  may  have  been  actuated  by  many 
motives  of  a  more  general  character,  such  as  are  ably  imagined  by  Mr. 
Kemble,  in  the  interesting  chapter  on  this  subject  in  his  “  Saxons  in 
England,”  yet  perhaps  we  learn  as  much  by  considering  in  detail  what 
in  England  at  least  was  believed  to  be  the  origin  of  the  mission. 

3  See  Milman’s  History  of  the  Jews,  iii.  208. 


.-587.' 


GREGORY  THE  GREAT. 


27 


son,  by  their  noble  Christian  zeal,  have  been  to  ours. 
And  it  may  be  mentioned,  as  a  proof  both  of  his  en¬ 
lightened  goodness,  and  of  his  interest  in  this  particu¬ 
lar  cause,  that  he  even  allowed  and  urged  the  sale  of 
sacred  vessels,  and  of  the  property  of  the  Church,  for 
the  purpose  of  redeeming  captives.  With  this  feeling 
in  his  mind  he  one  day  went  with  the  usual  crowd  that 
thronged  to  the  market-place  at  Borne  when  they  heard, 
as  they  did  on  this  occasion,  that  new  cargoes  of  mer¬ 
chandise  had  been  imported  from  foreign  parts.  It  was 
possibly  in  that  very  market-place  of  which  I  have 
before  spoken,  where  the  statue  of  his  favorite  Trajan 
was  looking  down  upon  him  from  the  summit  of  his 
lofty  pillar.  To  and  fro,  before  him,  amongst  the  bales 
of  merchandise,  passed  the  gangs  of  slaves,  torn  from 
their  several  homes  to  be  sold  amongst  the  great  fami¬ 
lies  of  the  nobles  and  gentry  of  Italy,  —  a  sight  such 
as  may  still  be  seen  (happily  nowhere  else)  in  the  re¬ 
mote  East,  or  in  the  Southern  States  of  North  America. 
These  gangs  were  doubtless  from  various  parts :  there 
were  the  swarthy  hues  of  Africa ;  there  were  the  dark¬ 
haired  and  dark-eyed  inhabitants  of  Greece  and  Sicily ; 
there  were  the  tawny  natives  of  Syria  and  Egypt.  But 
amongst  these,  one  group  arrested  the  attention  of  Greg¬ 
ory  beyond  all  others.  It  was  a  group  of  three1  boys, 
distinguished  from  the  rest  by  their  fair  complexion 
and  white  flesh,  the  beautiful  expression  of  their  coun¬ 
tenances,  and  their  light  flaxen  hair,  which,  by  the  side 
of  the  dark  captives  of  the  South,  seemed  to  him  al¬ 
most  of  dazzling  brightness,2  and  which,  by  its  long 
curls,  showed  that  they  were  of  noble  origin. 

1  Thorn,  1737.  “  Tres  pueros.”  He  alone  gives  the  number. 

2  “  Candidi  corporis,”  Bede;  “lactei  corporis,”  Paul  the  Dea¬ 
con,  c.  17  ;  “venusti  vultus,  capillorum  nitore,”  John  the  Deacon  ; 


28  DIALOGUE  WITH  ANGLO-SAXON  SLAVES.  [587. 

Nothing  gives  ns  a  stronger  notion  of  the  total  sep¬ 
aration  of  the  northern  and  southern  races  of  Europe 
at  that  time  than  the  emotion  which  these  peculiarities, 
to  us  so  familiar,  excited.  Gregory  stood  and  looked  at 
them;  his  fondness  for  children  of  itself  would  have 
led  him  to  pity  them;  that  they  should  be  sold  for 
slaves  struck  (as  we  have  seen)  on  another  tender  chord 
in  his  heart ;  and  he  asked  from  what  part  of  the  world 
they  had  been  brought.  The  slave  merchant,  probably 
a  Jew,  answered,  “  Erom  Britain ;  and  there  all  the  in* 
habitants  have  this  bright  complexion.”  1 

It  would  almost  seem  as  if  this  was  the  first  time 
that  Gregory  had  ever  heard  of  Britain.  It  was  indeed 
to  Borne  nearly  what  New  Zealand  is  now  to  England ; 
and  one  can  imagine  that  fifty  years  ago,  even  here,  there 
may  have  been  many,  even  of  the  educated  classes,  who 
had  a  very  dim  conception  of  where  New  Zealand  was, 
or  what  were  its  inhabitants.  The  first  question  which 
he  asked  about  this  strange  country  was  what  w*e  might 
have  expected.  The  same  deep  feeling  of  compassion 
that  he  had  already  shown  for  the  fate  of  the  good 
Trajan,  now  made  him  anxious  to  know  whether  these 
beautiful  children  —  so  innocent,  so  interesting  - —  were 
pagans  or  Christians.  “  They  are  pagans,”  was  the 
reply.  The  good  Gregory  heaved  a  deep  sigh  2  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  and  broke  out  into  a  loud  lamen¬ 
tation  expressed  with  a  mixture  of  playfulness,  which 

“  crine  rutila,”  Gocelin  ;  “  capillos  prsecipui  candoris,”  Paulus  Diac.  ; 
“capillum  forma  egregia,”  Bede  ;  “noble  [ cethelice ]  heads  of  hair,” 
JElfric.  It  is  from  these  last  expressions  that  it  may  be  inferred  that 
the  hair  was  nnshorn,  and  therefore  indicated  that  the  children  were 
of  noble  birth.  See  Palgrave’s  History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  p.  58 ; 
Lappenberg’s  History  of  England,  i.  136. 

1  “  De  Britannige  insula,  cujus  incolarum  omnis  facies  simili  can* 
dore  fulgescit.”  —  ActaSanctorum,  p.  141  ;  John  the  Deacon,  i.  21. 

2  “  Intimo  ex  corde  longa  trahens  suspiria.”  —  Bede. 


587.]  DIALOGUE  WITH  ANGLO-SAXON  SLAVES.  29 

partly  was  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  time,1 
partly  perhaps  was  suggested  by  the  thought  that  it 
was  children  of  whom  he  was  speaking.  “  Alas !  more 
is  the  pity,  that  faces  so  full  of  light  and  brightness 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  that 
such  grace  of  outward  appearance  should  accompany 
minds  without  the  grace  of  God  within  !  ”  2  He  went 
on  to  ask  what  was  the  name  of  their  nation,  and  was 
told  that  they  were  called  “Angles  ”  or  “  English.”  It 
is  not  without  a  thrill  of  interest  that  we  hear  the 
proud  name  which  now  is  heard  with  respect  and  awe 
from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun,  thus  uttered  for  the 
first  time  in  the  metropolis  of  the  world,  —  thus  awak¬ 
ing  for  the  first  time  a  response  in  a  Christian  heart. 
“Well  said,”  replied  Gregory,  still  following  out  his 
play  on  the  words ;  “  rightly  are  they  called  Angles,  for 
they  have  the  face  of  angels,  and  they  ought  to  be  fel¬ 
low-heirs  of  angels  in  heaven.”  Once  more  he  asked, 
“  What  is  the  name  of  the  province  from  which  they 
were  brought?”  He  was  told  that  they  were  “Deirans,” 
that  is  to  say,  that  they  were  from  Deira  3  (the  land  of 
“  wild  beasts,”  or  “  wild  deer  ”),  the  name  then  given  to 
the  tract  of  country  between  the  Tyne  and  the  Humber, 
including  Durham  and  Yorkshire.  “Well  said,  again,” 
answered  Gregory,  with  a  play  on  the  word  that  can 
only  be  seen  in  Latin;  “  rightly  are  they  called  Deirans, 
plucked  as  they  are  from  God’s  ire  [de  ird  Dei],  and 
called  to  the  mercy  of  Christ.”  Once  again  he  asked, 
“And  who  is  the  king  of  that  province  ?  ”  “  Ella,”  was 

1  The  anonymous  biographer  of  Gregory,  in  the  “Acta  Sanctorum,” 
March  12,  p.  130,  rejoices  in  the  Pope’s  own  name  of  good  omen, — 
"  Gregorius,”  quasi  “  Vigilantius.” 

2  “  Tam  lucidi  vultus  .  .  .  auctor  tenebrarum  .  .  .  gratia  frontis 
.  .  .  gratia  Dei,”  Bede;  “Black  Devil,” HIlfric. 

3  “Deore;  Thier ;  deer.”  See  Soames’  Anglo-Saxon  Church,  p.  31. 


30 


MISSION  OF  AUGUSTINE. 


[587. 


the  reply.  Every  one  who  has  ever  heard  of  Gregory 
has  heard  of  his  Gregorian  chants,  and  of  his  interest 
in  sacred  music ;  the  name  of  Ella  reminded  him  of 
the  Hebrew  words  of  praise  which  he  had  introduced 
into  the  Roman  service,1  and  he  answered,  “  Allelujah  ! 
the  praise  of  God  their  Creator  shall  be  sung  in  those 
parts.” 

So  ended  this  dialogue,  —  doubly  interesting  because 
its  very  strangeness  shows  us  the  character  of  the  man 
and  the  character  of  his  age.  This  mixture  of  the  play¬ 
ful  and  the  serious  —  this  curious  distortion  of  words 
from  their  original  meaning 2  —  was  to  him  and  his 
times  the  natural  mode  of  expressing  their  own  feelings 
and  of  instructing  others.  But  it  was  no  passing  emo¬ 
tion  which  the  sight  of  the  three  Yorkshire  boys  had 
awakened  in  the  mind  of  Gregory.  He  went  from  the 
market-place  to  the  Pope,  and  obtained  from  him  at 
once  permission  to  go  and  fulfil  the  design  of  his  heart,' 
and  convert  the  English  nation  to  the  Christian  faith. 

He  was  so  much  beloved  in  Rome,  that  great  opposi¬ 
tion  it  was  felt  would  be  made  to  his  going  ;  and 
therefore  he  started  from  his  convent  with  a  small  band 
of  his  companions  in  the  strictest  secrecy.  But  it  was 
one  of  the  many  cases  that  we  see  in  human  life,  where 
even  the  best  men  are  prevented  from  accomplishing 
the  objects  they  have  most  at  heart.  He  had  advanced 
three  days  along  the  great  northern  road,  which  leads 
through  the  Flaminian  gate  from  Rome  to  the  Alps. 
When 3  they  halted  as  usual  to  rest  at  noon,  they 
were  lying  down  in  a  meadow,  and  Gregory  was  read- 

1  See  Fleury,  Histoire  Ecclesiastique,  book  xxxvi.  18. 

2  See  the  account  of  Gregory’s  own  Commentary  on  Job,  as  shortly 
given  in  Milman’s  History  of  Latin  Christianity,  i.  435. 

3  “  Vit.  S.  Greg.”  — Paul  the  Deacon. 


587.] 


MISSION  OF  AUGUSTINE. 


31 


ing ;  suddenly  a  locust  leaped  upon  his  book,  and  sat 
motionless  on  the  page.  In  the  same  spirit  that  had 
dictated  his  playful  speeches  to  the  three  children,  he 
began  to  draw  morals  from  the  name  and  act  of  the 
locust.  “  Kightly  is  it  called  Locus ta,”  he  said,  “  be¬ 
cause  it  seems  to  say  to  us  ‘  Loco  sta,’  that  is,  ‘  Stay 
in  your  place.’  I  see  that  we  shall  not  be  able  to  finish 
our  journey.  But  rise,  load  the  mules,  and  let  us  get 
on  as  far  as  we  can.”  It  was  whilst  they  were  in  the 
act  of  discussing  this  incident  that  there  galloped  to 
the  spot  messengers,  on  jaded  horses,  bathed  in  sweat, 
who  had  ridden  after  him  at  full  speed  from  the  Pope, 
to  command  his  instant  return.  A  furious  mob  had  at¬ 
tacked  the  Pope  in  St.  Peter’s  Church,  and  demanded 
the  instant  recall  of  Gregory.  To  Pome  he  returned ; 
and  it  is  this  interruption,  humanly  speaking,  which 
prevented  us  from  having  Gregory  the  Great  for  the  first 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  founder  of  the  English 
Church. 

Years  rolled  away 1  from  the  time  of  the  conversation 
in  the  market-place  before  Gregory  could  do  anything 
for  the  fulfilment  of  his  wishes.  But  he  never  forgot 
it ;  and  when  he  was  at  last  elected  Pope  he  employed 
an  agent  in  France  to  buy  English  Christian  youths  of 
seventeen  or  eighteen  years  of  age,  sold  as  slaves,  to  be 
brought  up  in  monasteries.  But  before  this  plan  had 
led  to  any  result,  he  received  intelligence  which  deter¬ 
mined  him  to  adopt  a  more  direct  course.  What  this 
intelligence  was  we  shall  see  as  we  proceed.  [597.] 
Whatever  it  might  be,  he  turned  once  more  to  his  old 
convent  oh  the  Cselian  Hill,  and  from  its  walls  sent 
forth  the  Prior,  Augustine,  with  forty  monks  as  mis- 

1  The  mention  of  “  Ella  ”  in  the  dialogue  fixes  the  date  to  be  before 
A.  d.  588.  Augustine  was  sent  a.  d.  597. 


32 


LANDING  AT  EBBE’S  FLEET. 


[597. 


sionaries  to  England.  In  one  of  the  chapels  of  that 
convent  there  is  still  a  picture  of  their  departure. 

I  will  not  detain  you  with  his  journey  through 
France ;  it  is  chiefly  curious  as  showing  how  very  re¬ 
mote  England  seemed  to  be.1  He  and  his  companions 
were  so  terrified  by  the  rumors  they  heard,  that  they 
sent  him  back  to  home  to  beg  that  they  might  be  ex¬ 
cused.  Gregory  would  hear  of  no  retreat  from  dangers 
which  he  had  himself  been  prepared  to  face.  At  last 
they  came  on,  and  landed  at  Ebbe’s  Fleet,2  in  the  Isle 
of  Thanet. 

Let  us  look  for  a  moment  on  the  scene  of  this  im¬ 
portant  event,  as  it  now  is  and  as  it  was  then.  You 
all  remember  the  high  ground  where  the  white  chalk 
cliffs  of  Ramsgate  suddenly  end  in  Pegwell  Bay.  Look 
from  that  high  ground  over  the  level  flat  which  lies  be¬ 
tween  these  cliffs  and  the  point  where  they  begin  again 
in  St.  Margaret’s  cliffs  beyond  Walmer.  Even  as  it  is, 
you  see  why  it  must  always  have  invited  a  landing 
from  the  continent  of  Europe.  The  wide  opening  be¬ 
tween  the  two  steep  cliffs  must  always  have  afforded 
the  easiest  approach  to  any  invaders  or  any  settlers. 
But  it  was  still  more  so  at  the  time  of  which  we  are 
now  speaking.  The  level  ground  which  stretches  be¬ 
tween  the  two  cliffs  was  then  in  great  part  covered  with 
water;  the  sea  spread  much  farther  inland  from  Peg- 
well  Bay,  and  the  Stour,  or  Wensome3  (as  that  part 

1  Greg.  Epp.,  v.  10. 

2  It  is  called  variously  Hypwine,  Epwine,  Hiped,  Hepe,  Epped, 
Wipped  Fleet ;  and  the  name  has  been  variously  derived  from 
Whipped  (a  Saxon  chief,  killed  in  the  first  battle  of  Hengist),  Hope 
(a  haven),  Abbet  (from  its  being  afterwards  the  port  of  the  abbey  of 
St.  Augustine).  Fleet  is  “Port.” 

3  The  “  Boarded  Groin  ”  which  Lewis  (Isle  of  Thanet,  p.  83)  fixes 
as  the  spot,  still  remains,  a  little  beyond  the  coast-guard  station,  at 
the  point  marked  in  the  Ordnance  Survey  as  the  landing-place  of  the 


597.] 


LANDING  AT  EBBE’S  ELEET. 


33 


was  then  called),  instead  of  being  a  scanty  stream  that 
hardly  makes  any  division  between  the  meadows  on 
one  side  and  the  other,  was  then  a  broad  river,  making 
the  Isle  of  Thanet  really  an  island,  nearly  as  much  as 
the  Isle  of  Sheppey  is  now,  and  stretching  at  its  mouth 
into  a  wide  estuary,  which  formed  the  port  of  Eich- 
borough.  Moreover,  at  that  remote  age,  Sandwich  ha¬ 
ven  was  not  yet  choked  up ;  so  that  all  the  ships  which 
came  from  France  and  Germany,  on  their  way  to  Lon¬ 
don,  sailed  up  into  this  large  port,  and  through  the 
river,  out  at  the  other  side  by  Eeculver,  or,  if  they 
were  going  to  land  in  Kent,  at  Eichborough  on  the 
mainland,  or  at  Ebbe’s  Fleet  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet. 

Ebbe’s  Fleet  is  still  the  name  of  a  farm-house  on  a 
strip  of  high  ground  rising  out  of  Minster  marsh, 
which  can  be  distinguished  from  a  distance  by  its  line 
of  trees ;  and  on  a  near  approach  you  see  at  a  glance 
that  it  must  once  have  been  a  headland  or  promontory 
running  out  into  the  sea  between  the  two  inlets  of  the 
estuary  of  the  Stour  on  one  side,  and  Pegwell  Bay  on 
the  other.  What  are  now  the  broad  green  fields  were 
then  the  waters  of  the  sea.  The  tradition  that  “  some 
landing”  took  place  there,  is  still  preserved  at  the 
farm,  and  the  field  of  clover  which  rises  immediately 
on  its  north  side  is  shown  as  the  spot. 

Here  it  was  that,  according  to  the  story  preserved  in 
the  Saxon  Chronicle,  Hengist  and  Horsa  had  sailed  in 
with  their  three  ships  and  the  band  of  warriors  who 
conquered  Yortigern.  And  here  now  Augustine  came 
with  his  monks,  his  choristers,  and  the  interpreters 


Saxons.  “  Cotmansfield  ”  seems  to  be  the  high  ground  running  at  the 
back  of  level ;  the  only  vestige  of  the  name  now  preserved  is  “  Cotting- 
ton.”  But  no  tradition  marks  the  spot,  and  it  must  then  have  been 
covered  by  the  sea. 


3 


34 


ETHELBERT  AND  BERTHA. 


[597. 


they  had  brought  with  them  from  France.  The  Saxon 
conquerors,  like  Augustine,  are  described  as  having 
landed,  not  at  Eichborough,  but  at  Ebbe’s  Fleet,  be¬ 
cause  they  were  to  have  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  for  their 
first  possession,  apart  from  the  mainland ;  and  Au¬ 
gustine  landed  there  that  he  might  remain  safe  On  that 
side  the  broad  river  till  he  knew  the  mind  of  the  king. 
The  rock  was  long  preserved  on  which  he  set  foot,  and 
which,  according  to  a  superstition  found  in  almost 
every  country,  was  supposed  to  have  received  the  im¬ 
pression  of  his  footmark.  In  later  times  it  became  an 
object  of  pilgrimage,  and  a  little  chapel  was  built  over 
it;  though  it  was  afterwards  called  the  footmark  of 
Saint  Mildred,  and  the  rock,  even  till  the  beginning  of 
the  last  century,  was  called  “  Saint  Mildred’s  rock,”  1 
from  the  later  saint  of  that  name,  whose  fame  in  the 
Isle  of  Thanet  then  eclipsed  that  of  Augustine  him¬ 
self.  There  they  landed  “  in  the  ends,”  “  in  the  corner 
of  the  world,” 2  as  it  was  then  thought,  and  waited 
secure  in  their  island  retreat  till  they  heard  how  the  an¬ 
nouncement  of  their  arrival  was  received  by  Ethelbert, 
King  of  Kent. 

To  Ethelbert  we  must  now  turn.3  He  was,  it  was 
believed,  great-grandson  of  Eric,  son  of  Hengist,  sur- 


1  “Not  many  years  ago,”  says  Hasted  (iv.  325),  writing  in  1799. 
“  A  few  years  ago,”  says  Lewis  (Isle  of  Thanet,  p.  58),  writing  in  1723. 
Compare,  for  a  similar  transference  of  names  in  more  sacred  localities, 
the  footmark  of  Mahomet  in  the  Mosque  of  Omar,  called  during  the 
Crusades  the  footmark  of  Christ ;  and  the  footmark  of  Mahomet’s 
mule  on  Sinai,  now  called  the  footmark  of  the  dromedary  of  Moses. 
The  stone  was  thought  to  be  gifted  with  the  power  of  flying  back  to 
its  original  place  if  ever  removed.  (Lambard’s  Kent,  p.  104.) 

2  “Fines  mundi — gens  Anglorum  in  mundi  angulo  posita.” —  Greg. 
Epp .,  v.  158,  159.  Observe  the  play  on  the  word,  as  in  page  29. 

3  Ethelbert  is  the  same  name  as  Adalbert  and  Albert  I  as  Adalfuns 
=  Alfons,  Uodelrich  =  Ulrich),  meaning  “Noble-bright.” 


597.] 


ST.  MARTIN’S  CHURCH. 


35 


named  “  the  Ash,”  1  and  father  of  the  dynasty  of  the 
“Ashings,”  or  “sons  of  the  Ash-tree,”  the  name  by 
which  the  kings  of  Kent  were  known.  He  had,  be¬ 
sides,  acquired  a  kind  of  imperial  authority  over  the 
other  Saxon  kings  as  far  as  the  Humber.  To  con¬ 
solidate  his  power,  he  had  married  Bertha,  a  French 
princess,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Paris.  It  was  on 
this  marriage  that  all  the  subsequent  fate  of  England 
turned.  Ethelbert  was,  like  all  the  Saxons,  a  heathen ; 
but  Bertha,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  French  royal  family 
from  Clovis  downwards,  was  a  Christian.  She  had  her 
Christian  chaplain  with  her,  Luidhard,  a  French  bishop ; 
and  a  little  chapel2  outside  the  town,  which  had  once 
been  used  as  a  place  of  British  Christian  worship,  was 
given  up  to  her  use.  That  little  chapel,  “  on  the  east 
of  the  city,”  as  Bede  tells  us,  stood  on  the  gentle  slope 
now  occupied  by  the  venerable  Church  of  St.  Martin. 
The  present  church,  old  as  it  is,  is  of  far  later  date ; 
but  it  unquestionably  retains  in  it's  walls  some  of  the 
Boman  bricks  and  Roman  cement  of  Bertha’s  chapel ; 
and  its  name  may  perhaps  have  been  derived  from 
Bertha’s  use.3  Of  all  the  great  Christian  saints  of 

1  “Ashing”  (Bede,  ii.  5,  §  101)  was  probably  a  general  name  for 
hero,  in  allusion  to  the  primeval  man  of  Teutonic,  mythology,  who  was 
believed  to  have  sprung  from  the  sacred  Ash-tree  Ygdrasil.  (Grimm’s 
Deutsche  Myth.,  i.  324,  531,  617.)  Compare  the  venerable  Ash  which 
gives  its  name  to  the  village  of  Donau-Eschingen,  “  the  Ashes  of  the 
Danube,”  by  the  source  of  that  river. 

2  The  postern-gate  of  the  Precincts  opposite  St.  Augustine’s  gate¬ 
way  is  on  the  site  Quenengate,  a  name  derived  —  but  by  a  very  doubtful 
etymology  —  from  the  tradition  that  through  it  Bertha  passed  from 
Ethelbert’s  palace  to  St.  Martin’s.  (Battely  s  Canterbury,  p.  16.) 

3  It  is,  however,  possible  that  the  name  of  Saint  Martin  may  have 
been  given  to  the  church  of  the  British  Christians  before.  Bede’s 
expression  rather  leans  to  the  earlier  origin  of  the  name  :  “  Erat  .  .  . 
ecclesia  in  honorem  Sancti  Martini  antiquitus  facta  dum  adhuc  Romani 
Britanniam  incolerent.”  Saint  Ninian,  who  labored  amongst  the  South- 


36  INTERVIEW  OE  ETHELBERT  AND  AUGUSTINE.  [597. 

whom  she  had  heard  in  France  before  she  came  to 
England,  the  most  famous  was  Saint  Martin  of  Tours ; 
and  thus  the  name  which  is  now  so  familiar  to  us  that 
we  hardly  think  of  asking  why  the  church  is  so  called, 
may  possibly  be  a  memorial  of  the  recollections  which 
the  French  princess  still  cherished  of  her  own  native 
country  in  a  land  of  strangers. 

To  her  it  would  be  no  new  thought  that  possibly  she 
might  be  the  means  of  converting  her  husband.  Her 
own  great  ancestor,  Clovis,  had  become  a  Christian 
through  the  influence  of  his  wife  Clotilda,  and  many 
other  instances  had  occurred  in  like  manner  elsewhere. 
It  is  no  new  story  ;  it  is  the  same  that  has  often  been 
enacted  in  humbler  spheres,  —  of  a  careless  or  unbeliev¬ 
ing  husband  converted  by  a  believing  wife.  But  it  is 
a  striking  sight  to  see  planted  in  the  very  beginning  of 
our  history,  with  the  most  important  consequences  to 
the  whole  world,  the  same  fact  which  every  one  must 
have  especially  witnessed  in  the  domestic  history  of 
families,  high  and  low,  throughout  the  land. 

It  is  probable  that  Ethelbert  had  heard  enough  from 
Bertha  to  dispose  him  favorably  towards  the  new  re¬ 
ligion  ;  and  Gregory’s  letters  show  that  it  was  the 
tidings  of  this  predisposition  which  had  iuduced  him 
to  send  Augustine.  But  Ethelbert’s  conduct  on  hear¬ 
ing  that  the  strangers  were  actually  arrived  was  still 
hesitating.  He  would  not  suffer  them  to  come  to  Can¬ 
terbury  ;  they  were  to  remain  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet 

ern  Piets,  a.d.  412-432,  dedicated  his  church  at  Whitehaven  to  Saint 
Martin.  Hasted  (History  of  Kent,  iv.  496)  states  (but  without  giving  any 
authority  ),  that  it  was  originally  dedicated  to  the  Virgin,  and  was  dedi¬ 
cated  to  Saint  Martin  by  Luidliard.  The  legendary  origin  of  the  church, 
as  of  that  in  the  Castle  of  Dover,  of  St.  Peter’s  (Cornhill),  of  West¬ 
minster  Abbey,  and  of  Winchester  Cathedral,  is  traced  to  King  Lucius. 
CUssher,  Britannicarum  Ecclesiarum  Antiquitates,  pp.  129,  130.) 


597.]  INTERVIEW  OE  ETHELBERT  AND  AUGUSTINE.  37 

with  the  Stour  flowing  between  himself  and  them ;  and 
he  also  stipulated  that  on  no  account  should  they  hold 
their  first  interview  under  a  roof,  —  it  must  be  in  the 
open  air,  for  fear  of  the  charms  and  spells  which  he 
feared  they  might  exercise  over  him.  It  was  exactly 
the  savage’s  notion  of  religion,  that  it  exercises  influ¬ 
ence,  not  by  moral  and  spiritual,  but  by  magical  means. 
This  was  the  first  feeling ;  this  it  was  that  caused  the 
meeting  to  be  held  not  at  Canterbury,  but  in  the  Isle 
of  Thanet,  in  the  wide  open  space,  —  possibly  at  Ebbe’s 
Fleet,  —  possibly,  according  to  another  account,  under 
an  ancient  oak  on  the  high  upland  ground  in  the  centre 
of  the  island,1  then  dotted  with  woods  which  have  long 
since  vanished.2 

The  meeting  must  have  been  remarkable.  The  Sax¬ 
on  king,  “  the  Son  of  the  Ash-tree,”  with  his  wild  sol¬ 
diers  round,  seated  on  the  bare  ground  on  one  side  — 
on  the  other  side,  with  a  huge  silver  cross  borne  before 
him  (crucifixes  were  not  yet  introduced),  and  beside  it 
a  large  picture  of  Christ  painted  and  gilded 3  after  the 
fashion  of  those  times,  on  an  upright  board,  came  up 
from  the  shore  Augustine  and  his  companions,  chanting, 
as  they  advanced,  a  solemn  Litany  for  themselves  and 


1  See  Lewis,  Isle  of  Thanet,  p.  83 :  “  Under  an  oak  that  grew  in 
the  middle  of  the  island,  which  all  the  German  pagans  had  in  the 
highest  veneration.”  .He  gives  no  authority.  The  oak  was  held 
sacred  by  the  Germans  as  well  as  by  the  Britons.  Probably  the  recol¬ 
lection  of  this  meeting  determined  the  forms  of  that  which  Augustine 
afterwards  held  with  the  British  Christians  on  the  confines  of  Wales. 
Then,  as  now,  it  was  in  the  open  air,  under  an  oak ;  then,  as  now, 
Augustine  was  seated.  (Bede,  ii.  2,  §  9.)  In  the  same  chapel  of  St. 
Gregory’s  convent  at  Rome,  which  contains  the  picture  of  the  depart¬ 
ure  of  Augustine,  is  one  —  it  need  hardly  be  said,  with  no  attempt  at 
historical  accuracy  —  of  his  reception  by  Ethelbert. 

2  As  indicated  by  the  names  of  places.  (Hasted,  iv.  292.) 

3  “  Formose  atque  aurate.”  —  Acta  Sanctorum ,  p.  326. 


38  INTERVIEW  OF  ETHELBERT  AND  AUGUSTINE.  [59/ 

for  those  to  whom  they  came.  He,  as  we  are  told,  was 
a  man  of  almost  gigantic  stature,1  head  and  shoulders 
taller  than  any  one  else ;  with  him  were  Lawrence, 
who  afterwards  succeeded  him  as  Archbishop  of  Can¬ 
terbury,  and  Peter,  who  became  first  Abbot  of  St. 
Augustine’s.  They  and  their  companions,  amounting 
altogether  to  forty,  sat  down  at  the  king’s  command, 
and  the  interview  began. 

Neither,  we  must  remember,  could  understand  the 
other’s  language.  Augustine  could  not  understand  a 
word  of  Anglo-Saxon ;  and  Ethelbert,  we  may  he  tol¬ 
erably  sure,  could  not  speak  a  word  of  Latin.  But 
the  priests  whom  Augustine  had  brought  from  Prance, 
as  knowing  both  German  and  Latin,  now  stepped  for¬ 
ward  as  interpreters ;  and  thus  the  dialogue  which 
followed  was  carried  on,  much  as  all  communications 
are  carried  on  in  the  East,  —  Augustine  first  delivering 
his  message,  which  the  dragoman,  as  they  would  say 
in  the  East,  explained  to  the  king,2 

The  king  heard  it  all  attentively,  and  then  gave  this 
most  characteristic  answer,  bearing  upon  it  a  stamp  of 
truth  which  it  is  impossible  to  doubt:  “Your  words 
are  fair,  and  your  promises ;  but  because  they  are 
new  and  doubtful,  I  cannot  give  my  assent  to  them, 
and  leave  the  customs  which  I  have  so  long  observed, 
with  the  whole  Anglo-Saxon  race.  But  because  you 
have  come  hither  as  strangers  from  a  long  distance,  and 
as  I  seem  to  myself  to  have  seen  clearly  that  what  you 
yourselves  believed  to  be  true  and  good,  you  wish  to 
impart  to  us,  we  do  not  wish  to  molest  you ;  nay,  rather 

1  Acta  Sanctorum,  p.  399. 

2  Exchange  English  travellers  for  Roman  missionaries,  Arab  sheikhs 
for  Saxon  chiefs,  and  the  well-known  interviews  on  the  way  to  Petra 
give  us  some  notion  of  this  celebrated  dialogue. 


597.]  INTERVIEW  OF  ETIIELBERT  AND  AUGUSTINE.  39 


we  are  anxious  to  receive  you  hospitably,  and  to  give 
you  all  that  is  needed  for  your  support,  nor  do  we  hin¬ 
der  you  from  joining  all  whom  you  can  to  the  faith  of 
your  religion.” 

Such  an  answer,  simple  as  it  was,  really  seems  to 
contain  the  seeds  of  all  that  is  excellent  in  the  Eng¬ 
lish  character,  —  exactly  what  a  king  should  have  said 
on  such  an  occasion,  —  exactly  what,  under  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  Christianity,  has  grown  up  into  all  our  best 
institutions.  There  is  the  natural  dislike  to  change, 
which  Englishmen  still  retain ;  there  is  the  willingness 
at  the  same  time  to  listen  favorably  to  anything  which 
comes  recommended  by  the  energy  and  self-devotion 
of  those  who  urge  it ;  there  is,  lastly,  the  spirit  of 
moderation  and  toleration,  and  the  desire  to  see  fair 
play,  which  is  one  of  our  best  gifts,  and  which  I  hope 
we  shall  never  lose.  We  may,  indeed,  well  be  thankful, 
not  only  that  we  had  an  Augustine  to  convert  us,  but 
that  we  had  an  Ethelbert  for  our  king. 

Erom  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  the  missionaries  crossed 
the  broad  ferry  to  Bichborough, — the  “  Burgh,”  or  castle, 
of  “  Bete,”  or  “  Betep,”  as  it  was  then  called,  from  the 
old  Boman  fortress  of  Butupke,  of  which  the  vast  ruins 
still  remain.  Underneath  the  overhanging  cliff  of  the 
castle,  so  the  tradition  ran,  the  kin"  received  the  mis- 
sionaries.1  They  then  advanced  to  Canterbury  by  the 
Boman  road  over  St.  Martin’s  Hill.  The  first  object 

1  Sandwich  MS.  in  Boys’  Sandwich,  p.  838.  An  old  hermit  lived 
amongst  the  ruins  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  pointed  out  to  Le- 
land  what  seems  to  have  been  a  memorial  of  this  in  a  chapel  of  St. 
Augustine,  of  which  some  slight  remains  are  still  to  he  traced  in  the 
northern  bank  of  the  fortress.  There  was  also  a  head  or  bust,  said  to 
be  of  Queen  Bertha,  embedded  in  the  walls,  —  remaining  till  the  time 
of  Elizabeth.  The  curious  crossing  in  the  centre  was  then  called  by 
the  common  people,  “  St.  Augustine’s  Cross.”  (Camden,  p.  342.)  For 
this  question  see  the  Note  at  the  end  of  this  Lecture. 


40  ARRIVAL  OF  AUGUSTINE  AT  CANTERBURY.  [597, 


that  would  catch  their  view  would  be  the  little  British 
chapel  of  St.  Martin,  —  a  welcome  sight,  as  showing 
that  the  Christian  faith  was  not  wholly  strange  to  this 
new  land.  And  then,  in  the  valley  below,  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  appeared  the  city,  —  the  rude  wooden  city 
as  it  then  was,  —  embosomed  in  thickets.  As  soon  as 
they  saw  it,  they  formed  themselves  into  a  long  proces¬ 
sion  ;  they  lifted  up  again  the  tall  silver  cross  and  the 
rude  painted  board  ;  there  were  with  them  the  choris¬ 
ters,  whom  Augustine  had  brought  from  Gregory’s 
school  on  the  Cselian  Hill,  trained  in  the  chants  which 
were  called  after  his  name ;  and  they  sang  one  of 
those  Litanies 1  which  Gregory  had  introduced  for 
the  plague  at  Borne.  “We  beseech  thee,  0  Lord,  in 
all  thy  mercy,  that  thy  wrath  and  thine  anger  may 
be  removed  from  this  city  and  from  thy  holy  house. 
Allelujah.”  2  Doubtless,  as  they  uttered  that  last  word; 
they  must  have  remembered  that  they  were  thus  ful¬ 
filling  to  the  letter  the  very  wish  that  Gregory  had 
expressed  when  he  first  saw  the  Saxon  children  in 
the  market-place  at  Borne.  And  thus  they  came 
down  St.  Martin’s  Hill,  and  entered  Canterbury. 

1  Fleury,  Histoire  Ecclesiastique,  book  xxxv.  1. 

2  Bede  (ii.  1 ,  §  87 )  supposes  that  it  was  to  this  that  Gregory  alludes 
in  his  Commentary  on  Job,  when  he  says,  “  Lo,  the  language  of  Britain, 
which  once  only  knew  a  barbarous  jargon,  now  has  begun  in  divine 
praises  to  sound  Allelujah.”  It  is  objected  to  this  that  the  Commen¬ 
tary  on  Job  was  written  during  Gregory’s  mission  to  Constantinople, 
some  years  before  this  event,  and  that  therefore  the  passage  must 
relate  to  the  victory  gained  by  Germanus  in  the  Welsh  mountains  by 
the  shout  of  “  Hallelujah.”  But  the  Commentary  was  only  begun  at 
Constantinople.  Considering  the  doubt  whether  Gregory  could  have 
heard  of  the  proceedings  of  Germanus,  it  may  well  be  a  question 
whether  the  allusion  in  the  Commentary  on  Job  was  not  added  after 
he  had  heard  of  this  fulfilment  of  his  wishes.  At  any  rate,  it  illus¬ 
trates  the  hold  which  the  word  “  Hallelujah  ”  had  on  his  mind  in  con- 
nection  with  the  conversion  of  Britain. 


BAPTISM  OF  ETHELBERT. 


41 


697.} 

Every  one  of  the  events  which  follow  is  connected 
with  some  well-known  locality.  The  place  that  Ethel- 
bert  gave  them  first  was  “  Stable-gate,”  by  an  old 
heathen  temple,  where  his  servants  worshipped,  near 
the  present  Church  of  St.  Alfege,  as  a  “  resting-place,” 
where  they  “  stabled  ”  till  he  had  made  up  his  mind  ; 
and  by  their  good  and  holy  lives  it  is  said,  as  well  as 
by  the  miracles  they  were  supposed  to  work,  he  was  at 
last  decided  to  encourage  them  more  openly,  and  allow 
them  to  worship  with  the  queen  at  St.  Martin’s.1 

In  St.  Martin’s  they  worshipped ;  and  no  doubt  the 
mere  splendor  and  strangeness  of  the  Roman  ritual 
produced  an  instant  effect  on  the  rude  barbarian  mind. 
And  now  came  the  turning-point  of  their  whole  mis¬ 
sion,  the  baptism  of  Ethelbert.  It  was,  unless  we  ex¬ 
cept  the  conversion  of  Clovis,  the  most  important 
baptism  that  the  world  had  seen  since  that  of  Con¬ 
stantine.  We  know  the  day,  —  it  was  the  Feast  of 
Whit-Sunday,  —  on  the  2d  of  June,  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  597.  Unfortunately  we  do  not  with  certainty 
know  the  place.  The  only  authorities  of  that  early 
age  tell  us  merely  that  he  was  baptized,  without 
specifying  any  particular  spot.  Still,  as  St.  Martin’s 
Church  is  described  as  the  scene  of  Augustine’s  min¬ 
istrations,  and,  amongst  other  points,  of  his  adminis¬ 
tration  of  baptism,  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  probable 
that  the  local  tradition  is  correct.  And  although  the 
venerable  font,  which  is  there  shown  as  that  in  which 
he  was  baptized,  is  proved  by  its  appearance  to  be,  at 
least  in  its  upper  part,  of  a  later  date,  yet  it  is  so  like 
that  which  appears  in  the  representation  of  the  event 
in  the  seal  of  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey,  and  is  in  itself 
so  remarkable,  that  we  may  perhaps  fairly  regard  it 

1  Thorn,  1758. 


42 


CHURCH  OF  ST.  PANCRAS. 


[597. 


as  a  monument  of  the  event,  —  in  the  same  manner 
as  the  large  porphyry  basin  in  the  Lateran  Church 
at  Rome  commemorates  the  baptism  of  Constantine, 
though  still  less  corresponding  to  the  reality  of  that 
event  than  the  stone  font  of  St.  Martin’s  to  the  place 
of  the  immersion  of  Ethelbert.1 

The  conversion  of  a  king  was  then  of  more  im¬ 
portance  than  it  has  ever  been  before  or  since.  The 
baptism  of  any  one  of  these  barbarian  chiefs  almost  in¬ 
evitably  involved  the  baptism  of  the  whole  tribe,  and 
therefore  we  are  not  to  be  surprised  at  finding  that 
when  this  step  was  once  achieved,  all  else  was  easy. 
Accordingly,  by  the  end  of  that  year,  Gregory  wrote  to 
his  brother  patriarch  of  the  distant  Church  of  Alex¬ 
andria  (so  much  interest  did  the  event  excite  to  the  re¬ 
motest  end  of  Christendom),  that  ten  thousand  Saxons 
had  been  baptized  on  Christmas  Day,2  —  baptized,  as 
we  learn  from  another  source,  in  the  broad  waters  of 
the  Swale,3  at  the  mouth  of  the  Medway. 

The  next  stage  of  the  mission  carries  us  to  another 
spot.  Midway  between  St.  Martin’s  and  the  town  was 
another  ancient  building,  —  also,  it  would  appear,  al¬ 
though  this  is  less  positively  stated,  once  a  British 
church,  but  now  used  by  Ethelbert  as  a  temple  in  which 

1  Neither  Bede  79)  nor  Thorn  (1759)  says  a  word  of  the  scene  of 
the  baptism.  ButGoeelin  (Acta  Sanctorum,  p.383)  speaks  distinctly  of  a 
“  baptistery  ”  or  “  urn”  as  used.  The  first  mention  of  the  font  at  St 
Martin’s  that  I  find  is  in  Stukely,  p.  1 17  (in  the  seventeenth  century). 

2  Greg.  Epp.,  vii.  30. 

3  See  Fuller’s  Church  History,  ii.  §§  7,  9,  where  he  justly  argues, 
after  his  quaint  fashion,  that  the  Swale  mentioned  by  Gocelin  (Acta 
Sanctorum,  p.  390),  Gervase  (Acta  Pont.,  p.  1551),  and  Camden  (p.  136), 
cannot  be  that  of  Yorkshire.  Indeed,  Gregory’s  letter  is  decisive.  The 
legend  represents  the  crowd  as  miraculously  delivered  from  drowning, 
and  the  baptism  as  performed  by  two  and  two  upon  each  other  at  the 
command,  though  not  by  the  act,  of  Augustine. 


597.] 


CHURCH  OF  ST.  PANCRAS. 


43 


to  worship  the  gods  of  Saxon  paganism.  Like  all  the 
Saxon  temples,  we  must  imagine  it  embosomed  in  a 
thick  grove  of  oak  or  ash.  This  temple,  according  to 
a  principle  which,  as  we  shall  afterwards  find,  was  laid 
down  by  Gregory  himself,  Ethelbert  did  not  destroy, 
but  made  over  to  Augustine  for  a  regular  place  of  Chris¬ 
tian  worship.  Augustine  dedicated  the  place  to  Saint 
Pancras,  and  it  became  the  Church  of  St.  Pancras,  of 
which  the  spot  is  still  indicated  by  a  ruined  arch  of 
ancient  brick,  and  by  the  fragment  of  a  wall,  still  show¬ 
ing  the  mark  1  where,  according  to  the  legend,  the  old 
demon  who,  according  to  the  belief  at  that  time,  had 
hitherto  reigned  supreme  in  the  heathen  temple,  laid 
his  claws  to  shake  down  the  building  in  which  he  first 
heard  the  celebration  of  Christian  services,  and  felt  that 
his  rule  was  over.  But  there  is  a  more  authentic  and 
instructive  interest  attaching  to  that  ancient  ruin,  if 
you  ask  why  it  was  that  it  received  from  Augustine  the 
name  of  St.  Pancras  ?  Two  reasons  are  given :  First, 
Saint  Pancras,  or  Pancrasius,  was  a  Roman  boy  of  noble 
family,  who  was  martyred  2  under  Diocletian  at  the  age 
of  fourteen,  and,  being  thus  regarded  as  the  patron 
saint  of  children,  would  naturally  be  chosen  as  the 
patron  saint  of  the  first-fruits  of  the  nation  which  was 
converted  out  of  regard  to  the  three  English  children  in 
the  market-place ;  and,  secondly,  the  Monastery  of  St. 

1  The  place  now  pointed  out  can  hardly  be  the  same  as  that  indi¬ 
cated  by  Thorn  (1760)  as  “  the  south  wall  of  the  church.”  But  every 
student  of  local  tradition  knows  how  easily  they  are  transplanted  to 
suit  the  convenience  of  their  perpetuation.  The  present  mark  is  ap¬ 
parently  that  mentioned  by  Stukely  (p.  117),  who  gives  a  view  of  the 
church  as  then  standing. 

2  The  Roman  Church  of  St.  Pancrazio,  behind  the  Vatican  (so  fa¬ 
mous  in  the  siege  of  Rome  by  the  French  in  1849),  is  on  the  scene  of 
Pancrasius’s  martyrdom. 


44  FIRST  CATHEDRAL  OF  CANTERBURY.  [597. 

Andrew  on  the  Cselian  Hill,  which  Gregory  had  founded, 
and  from  which  Augustine  came,  was  built  on  the  very 
property  which  had  belonged  to  the  family  of  Saint 
Pancras,  and  therefore  the  name  of  Saint  Pancras  was 
often  in  Gregory’s  mouth  (one  of  his  sermons  was 
preached  on  Saint  Pancras’s  day),  and  would  thus  nat¬ 
urally  occur  to  Augustine  also.  That  rising  ground 
on  which  the  Chapel  of  St.  Pancras  stands,  with  St. 
Martin’s  Hill  behind,  was  to  him  a  Cselian  Mount  in 
England ;  and  this,  of  itself,  would  suggest  to  him  the 
wish,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  to  found  his  first 
monastery  as  nearly  as  possible  with  the  same  asso¬ 
ciations  as  that  which  he  had  left  behind. 

But  Ethelbert  was  not  satisfied  with  establishing 
those  places  of  worship  outside  the  city.  Augustine 
was  now  formally  consecrated  as  the  first  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  and  Ethelbert  determined  to  give  him  a 
dwelling-place  and  a  house  of  prayer  within  the  city 
also.  Buildings  of  this  kind  were  rare  in  Canterbury, 
and  so  the  king  retired  to  Reculver,  —  built  there  a 
new  palace  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  old  Roman  fortress, 
and  gave  up  his  own  palace  and  an  old  British  or 
Roman  church  in  its  neighborhood,  to  be  the  seat  of 
the  new  archbishop  and  the  foundation  of  the  new 
cathedral.  If  the  baptism  of  Ethelbert  may  in  some 
measure  be  compared  to  the  baptism  of  Constantine,  so 
this  may  be  compared  to  that  hardly  less  celebrated  act 
of  the  same  emperor  (made  up  of  some  truth  and  more 
fable),  —  his  donation  of  the  “  States  of  the  Church,” 
or  at  least  of  the  Lateran  Palace,  to  Pope  Sylvester ; 
his  own  retirement  to  Constantinople  in  consequence 
of  this  resignation.  It  is  possible  that  Ethelbert  may 
have  been  in  some  measure  influenced  in  his  step  by 
what  he  may  have  heard  of  this  story.  His  wooden 


■n  ' 


/ 


597.]  FIRST  CATHEDRAL  OF  CANTERBURY.  45 

palace  was  to  him  what  the  Lateran  was  to  Constantine  ; 
Augustine  was  his  Sylvester ;  Eeculver  was  his  Byzan¬ 
tium.  At  any  rate,  this  grant  of  house  and  land  to 
Augustine  was  a  step  of  immense  importance  not  only 
in  English  but  European  history,  because  it  was  the 
first  instance  in  England,  or  in  any  of  the  countries  oc¬ 
cupied  by  the  barbarian  tribes,  of  an  endowment  by  the 
State.  As  St.  Martin’s  and  St.  Pancras’s  witnessed  the 
first  beginning  of  English  Christianity,  so  Canterbury 
Cathedral  is  the  earliest  monument  of  an  English  Church 
Establishment,  —  of  the  English  constitution  of  the 
union  of  Church  and  State.1  Of  the  actual  building  of 
this  first  cathedral,  nothing  now  remains ;  yet  there  is 
much,  even  now,  to  remind  us  of  it.  First,  there  is  the 
venerable  chair,  in  which,  for  so  many  generations,  the 
primates  of  England  have  been  enthroned,  and  which, 
though  probably  of  a  later  date,  may  yet  rightly  be 
called  “  Saint  Augustine’s  Chair ;  ”  2  for,  though  not  the 
very  one  in  which  he  sat,  it  no  doubt  represents  the 
ancient  episcopal  throne,  in  which,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  bishops,  of  that  time,  he  sat  behind  the  altar  (for 
that  was  its  proper  place,  and  there,  as  is  well  known, 
it  once  stood),  with  all  his  clergy  round  him,  as  may 
still  be  seen  in  several  ancient  churches  abroad.  Next, 
there  is  the  name  of  the  cathedral.  It  was  then,  as  it 
is  still,  properly  called  “  Christ  Church,”  or  the  “  Church 
of  our  Saviour.”  We  can  hardly  doubt  that  this  is  a 

1  That  the  parallel  of  Constantine  was  present  to  the  minds  of  those 
concerned  is  evident,  not  merely  from  the  express  comparison  by  Go- 
celin  (Acta  Sanctorum,  p.  383),  of  Ethelbert  to  Constantine,  and  Au¬ 
gustine  to  Sylvester,  but  from  the  appellation  of  “  Hellena”  given  by 
Gregory  to  Bertha,  or  (as  he  calls  her)  Edilburga.  (Epp.,  ix.  60.) 

2  The  arguments  against  the  antiquity  of  the  chair  are,  (1)  That  it 
is  of  Purbeck  marble;  (2)  That  the  old  throne  was  of  one  piece  of 
stone,  the  present  is  of  three. 


46  MONASTERY  AND  LIBRARY  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE.  [597. 

direct  memorial  of  the  first  landing  of  Augustine,  when 
he  first  announced  to  the  pagan  Saxons  the  faith  and 
name  of  Christ,  and  spread  out  before  their  eyes,  on  the 
shore  of  Ebhe’s  Fleet,  the  rude  painting  on  the  large 
board,  which,  we  are  emphatically  told,  represented  to 
them  “  Christ  our  Saviour.”  And,  thirdly,  there  is  the 
curious  fact,  that  the  old  church,  whether  as  found,  or 
as  restored  by  Augustine,  was  in  many  of  its  features 
an  exact  likeness  of  the  old  St.  Peter’s  at  Rome, — 
doubtless  from  his  recollection  of  that  ancient  edifice  in 
what  may  be  called  his  own  cathedral  city  in  Italy. 
In  it,  as  in  St.  Peter’s,1  the  altar  was  originally  at  the 
west  end.  Like  St.  Peter’s  it  contained  a  crypt  made 
in  imitation  of  the  ancient  catacombs,  in  which  the 
bones  of  the  apostles  were  originally  found ;  and  this 
was  the  first  beginning  of  the  crypt  which  still  exists, 
and  which  is  so  remarkable  a  part  of  the  present  cathe¬ 
dral.  Lastly,  then,  as  now,  the  chief  entrance  into  the 
cathedral  was  through  the  south  door,2  which  is  a  prac¬ 
tice  derived,  not  from  the  Roman,  but  from  the  British 
times,  and  therefore  from  the  ruined  British  church 
which  Augustine  first  received  from  Ethelbert.  It  is 
so  still  in  the  remains  of  the  old  British  churches  which 
are  preserved  in  Cornwall  and  Scotland ;  and  I  mention 
it  here  because  it  is  perhaps  the  only  point  in  the  whole 
cathedral  which  reminds  us  of  that  earlier  British  Chris¬ 
tianity,  which  had  almost  died  away  before  Augustine 
came. 

Finally,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Pancras,  where  he  had  first  begun  to  perform  Christian 
service,  Ethelbert  granted  to  Augustine  the  ground  on 
which  was  to  be  built  the  monastery  that  afterwards 

1  Willis’s  Canterbury  Cathedral,  pp.  20-32. 

a  Ibid.,  p.  11. 


597.]  MONASTERY  AND  LIBRARY  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE.  47 

grew  up  into  the  great  abbey  called  by  bis  name.  It 
was,  in  the  first  instance,  called  the  Abbey  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  after  the  two  apostles  of  the  city  of  Pome, 
from  which  Augustine  and  his  companions  had  come  ; 
and  though  in  after  times  it  was  chiefly  known  by  the 
name  of  its  founder  Augustine,  yet  its  earlier  appella¬ 
tion  was  evidently  intended  to  carry  back  the  thoughts 
of  those  who  first  settled  within  its  walls  far  over  the 
sea,  to  the  great  churches  which  stood  by  the  hanks 
of  the  Tiber,  over  the  graves  of  the  two  apostles.  This 
monastery  was  designed  chiefly  for  two  purposes.  One 
object  was,  that  the  new  clergy  of  the  Christian  mission 
might  be  devoted  to  study  and  learning.  And  it  may 
be  interesting  to  remember  here,  that  of  this  original 
intention  of  the  monastery,  two  relics  possibly  exist, 
although  not  at  Canterbury.  In  the  library  of  Corpus 
Christi  College  at  Cambridge,  and  in  the  Bodleian  Li¬ 
brary  at  Oxford,  two  ancient  manuscript  Gospels  still  ex¬ 
ist,  which  have  at  least  a  fair  claim  to  be  considered  the 
very  books  which  Gregory  sent  to  Augustine  as  marks 
of  his  good  wishes  to  the  rising  monastery,  when 
Lawrence  and  Peter  returned  from  Britain  to  Borne,  to 
tell  him  the  success  of  their  mission,  and  from  him 
brought  back  these  presents.  They  are,  if  so,  the  most 
ancient  books  that  ever  were  read  in  England ;  as  the 
Church  of  St.  Martin  is  the  mother-church,  and  the 
Cathedral  of  Canterbury  the  mother-cathedral  of  Eng¬ 
land,  so  these  books  are,  if  I  may  so  call  them,  the 
mother-books  of  England,  —  the  first  beginning  of  Eng¬ 
lish  literature,  of  English  learning,  of  English  education. 
And  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey  was  thus  the  mother-school, 
the  mother-university,  of  England,  the  seat  of  letters 
and  study  at  a  time  when  Cambridge  was  a  desolate 
fen,  and  Oxford  a  tangled  forest  in  a  wide  waste  of 


48  BURIAL-GROUND  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE’S  ABBEY.  [597. 

waters.1  They  remind  us  that  English  power  and  Eng¬ 
lish  religion  have,  as  from  the  very  first,  so  ever  since, 
gone  along  with  knowledge,  with  learning,  and  especially 
with  that  knowledge  and  that  learning  which  those  two 
old  manuscripts  give  —  the  knowledge  and  learning  of 
the  Gospel. 

This  was  one  intention  of  St.  Augustine’s  Monastery. 
The  other  is  remarkable,  as  explaining  the  situation  of 
the  Abbey.  It  might  be  asked  why  so  important  an 
edifice,  constructed  for  study  and  security,  should  have 
been  built  outside  the  city  walls?  One  reason,  as  I 
have  said,  may  have  been  to  fix  it  as  near  as  possible  to 
the  old  Church  of  St.  Pancras.  But  there  was  another 
and  more  instructive  cause :  Augustine  desired  to  have 
in  this  land  of  strangers  a  spot  of  consecrated  ground 
where  his  bones  should  repose  after  death.  But  in  the 
same  way  as  the  Abbey  Church  of  Glastonbury  in  like' 
manner  almost  adjoins  to  the  Chapel  of  St.  Joseph  of 
Arimathea,  such  a  place,  according  to  the  usages  which 
he  brought  with  him  from  Borne,  he  could  not  have 
within  the  walls  of  Canterbury.  In  all  ancient  coun¬ 
tries  the  great  cemeteries  were  always  outside  the  town, 
along  the  sides  of  the  great  highways  by  which  it  was 
approached.  In  Jewish  as  well  as  in  Boman  history, 
only  persons  of  the  very  highest  importance  were  al¬ 
lowed  what  we  now  call  intra-mural  interment.  So  it 
was  here.  Augustine  the  Boman  fixed  his  burial-place 

1  A  manuscript  history  of  the  foundation  of  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey 
(in  the  library  of  Trinity  Hall,  Cambridge,  to  which  it  was  given  by 
one  into  whose  hands  it  fell  at  the  time  of  the  Dissolution)  contains  an 
account  of  eight  manuscripts,  said  to  be  those  sent  over  by  Gregory. 
Of  these  all  have  long  since  disappeared,  with  three  exceptions,  —  a 
Bible  which,  however,  has  never  been  heard  of  since  1604,  and  the  two 
manuscript  Gospels  still  shown  at  Corpus,  Cambridge,  and  in  the 
Bodleian  at  Oxford.  The  arguments  for  their  genuineness  are  stated 
by  Wanley,  in  Hickes’s  Thesaurus  (ii.  172,  173). 


597.]  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  SEE  OF  ROCHESTER.  49 

by  the  side  of  the  great  Roman  road  which  then  ran 
from  Richborough  to  Canterbury  over  St.  Martin’s  Hill, 
and  entering  the  town  by  the  gateway  which  still 
marks  the  course  of  the  old  road.1  The  cemetery  of  St. 
Augustine  was  an  English  Appian  Way,  as  the  Church 
of  St.  Pancras  was  an  English  Cselian  Hill ;  and  this  is 
the  reason  why  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey,  instead  of  the 
Cathedral,  has  enjoyed  the  honor  of  burying  the  last 
remains  of  the  first  primate  of  the  English  Church  and 
of  the  first  king  of  Christian  England. 

Eor  now  we  have  arrived  at.  the  end  of  their  career. 
Nothing  of  importance  is  known  of  Augustine  in  con¬ 
nection  with  Canterbury,  beyond  what  has  been  said 
above.  We  know  that  he  penetrated  as  far  west  as  the 
banks  of  the  Severn,  on  his  important  mission  to  the 
Welsh  Christians,  and  it  would  also  seem  that  he  must2 * 4 
have  gone  into  Dorsetshire ;  but  these  would  lead  us 
into  regions  and  topics  remote  from  our  present  subject. 

His  last  act  at  Canterbury,  of  which  we  can  speak 
with  certainty,  was  his  consecration  of  two  monks  who 
had  been  sent  out  after  him  by  Gregory  to  two  new 
sees,  —  two  new  steps  farther  into  the  country,  still 
under  the  shelter  of  Ethelbert.  Justus  became  Bishop 
of  Rochester,  and  Mellitus  Bishop  of  London.  And 
still  the  same  association  of  names  which  we  have  seen 
at  Canterbury  wTas  continued.  The  memory  of  “  St. 
Andrew’s  Convent  ”  on  the  Caelian  Hill  was  perpetuated 

1  Bede,  i.  33,  §  79;  Gostling’s  Walk,  p.  44.  “A  common  footway- 
lay  through  it,  even  till  memory.” 

2  See  the  account  of  his  conference  with  the  Welsh,  in  Bede;  the 

stories  of  his  adventures  in  Dorsetshire,  in  the  “Acta  Sanctorum,” 
p.  391.  The  story  of  his  journey  into  Yorkshire  has  probably  arisen 
from  the  mistake,  before  noticed,  respecting  the  Swale.  The  whole 
question  of  his  miracles,  and  of  the  legendary  portions  of  his  life,  is  too 
long  to  be  discussed  in  this  place. 

4 


50 


DEATH  OF  AUGUSTINE. 


[605. 


in  the  Cathedral  Church  of  St.  Andrew  on  the  oanks  of 
the  Medway.  The  names  of  Saint  Peter  and  Saint  Paul, 
which  had  been  combined  in  the  abbey  at  Canterbury, 
were  preserved  apart  in  St.  Peter’s  at  Westminster  and 
St.  Paul’s  in  London,  which  thus  represent  the  great 
Roman  Basilicas,  on  the  hanks  of  the  Thames.  How 
like  the  instinct  with  which  the  colonists  of  the  Hew 
World  reproduced  the  nomenclature  of  Christian  and 
civilized  Europe,  was  this  practice  of  recalling  in  re¬ 
mote  and  barbarous  Britain  the  familiar  scenes  of  Chris¬ 
tian  and  civilized  Italy ! 

It  was  believed  that  Augustine  expired  on  the  26th 
of  May,  605,1  his  patron  and  benefactor,  Gregory  the 
Great,  having  died  on  the  12th  of  March  of  the  previous 
year,  and  he  was  interred,2  according  to  the  custom  of 
which  I  have  spoken,  by  the  roadside  in  the  ground  now 
occupied  by  the  Kent  and  Canterbury  Hospital.  The 
abbey  which  he  had  founded  was  not  yet  finished,  but 
he  had  just  lived  to  see  its  foundation.3  Ethelbert  came 
from  Reculver  to  Canterbury,  a  few  months  before  Au¬ 
gustine’s  death,  to  witness  the  ceremony ;  and  the  monks 
were  settled  there  under  Peter,  the  first  companion  of 
Augustine,  as  their  head.  Peter  did  not  long  survive 
his  master.  He  was  lost,  it  is  said,  in  a  storm  off  the 
coast  of  France,  two  years  afterwards,  and  his  remains 
were  interred  in  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  at  Boulogne.4 
Bertha  and  her  chaplain  also  died  about  the  same  time, 
and  were  buried  beside  Augustine.  There  now  remained 
of  those  who  had  first  met  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet  ten 
years  before,  only  Ethelbert  himself,  and  Lawrence,  who 

1  Thorn  (1765)  gives  the  year;  Bede  (ii.  3,  §  96),  the  day. 

2  Thorn,  1767. 

3  Thorn,  1761.  Christmas,  a.  d.  605,  was,  according  to  our  reckon¬ 
ing,  on  Christmas,  604. 

4  Thorn,  1766. 


613.] 


BURIAL-PLACE  OF  AUGUSTINE. 


51 


had  been  consecrated  Archbishop  by  Augustine  himself 
before  his  death,  an  unusual  and  almost  unprecedented 
step,1  but  one  which  it  was  thought  the  unsettled  state 
of  the  newly  converted  country  demanded.  Once  more 
Ethelbert  and  Lawrence  met,  in  the  year  613,  eight 
years  after  Augustine’s  death,  for  the  consecration  of 
the  Abbey  Church,  on  the  site  of  which  there  rose  in 
after  times  the  noble  structure  whose  ruins  still  remain, 
preserving  in  the  fragments  of  its  huge  western  tower, 
even  to  our  own  time,  the  name  of  Ethelbert.  Then  the 
bones  2  of  Augustine  were  removed  from  their  resting- 
place  by  the  Roman  road,  to  be  deposited  in  the  north 
transept  of  the  church,  where  they  remained  till  in  the 
twelfth  century  they  were  moved  again,  and  placed 
under  the  high  altar  at  the  east  end.  Then  also  the 
remains  of  Bertha  and  of  Luidhard  were  brought  within 
the  same  church,  and  laid  in  the  transept  or  apse  dedi¬ 
cated  to  Saint  Martin  ; 3  thus  still  keeping  up  the  rec¬ 
ollection  of  their  original  connection  with  the  old 
French  saint,  and  the  little  chapel  where  they  had 
so  often  worshipped  on  the  hill  above,  —  Luidhard4 

1  Thorn,  1765;  Bede,  ii.  4,  §  97. 

2  Thorn,  1767.  The  statement  in  Butler’s  " Lives  of  the  Saints” 
(May  26)  is  a  series  of  mistakes. 

3  The  mention  of  this  apse,  or  “  porticus,”  of  Saint  Martin  has  led 
to  the  mistake  which  from  Fuller’s  time  (ii.  7,  §  32)  has  fixed  the 
grave  of  Bertha  in  the  Church  of  St.  Martin’s  on  the  hill.  But  the 
elegant  Latin  inscription  which  the  excellent  rector  of  St.  Martin’s 
has  caused  to  be  placed  over  the  rude  stone  tomb  which  popularly 
bears  her  name  in  his  beautiful  church,  is  so  cautiously  worded  that 
even  if  she  were  buried  much  farther  off  than  she  is,  the  claim  which 
is  there  set  up  would  hardly  be  contradicted. 

4  Luidhard  is  so  mere  a  shadow,  that  it  is  hardly  worth  while  col¬ 
lecting  what  is  known  or  said  of  him.  His  name  is  variously  spelled 
Lethard,  Ledvard,  and  Luidhard.  His  French  bishopric  is  variously 
represented  to  be  Soissons  or  Senlis.  His  tomb  in  the  abbey  was  long 
known,  and  his  relics  were  carried  round  Canterbury  in  a  gold  chest 
on  the  Rogation  Days.  (Acta  Sanctorum,  Feb.  24,  pp.  468,  470.) 


52  DEATH  OF  ETHELBERT.  [616. 

on  the  north,  and  Bertha  on  the  south  side  of  the 
altar. 

Three  years  longer  Ethelhert  reigned.  He  lived,  as 
has  been  already  said,  no  longer  at  Canterbury,  but  in 
the  new  palace  which  he  had  built  for  himself  within 
the  strong  Roman  fortress  of  Reculver,  at  the  north¬ 
western  end  of  the  estuary  of  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  though 
in  a  different  manner.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  place 
is  even  more  altered  than  that  of  its  corresponding 
fortress  of  Richborough,  at  the  other  extremity.  The 
sea,  which  was  then  a  mile  or  more  from  Reculver,  has 
now  advanced  up  to  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff  on  which 
it  stands,  and  swept  the  northern  wall  of  the  massive 
fortress  into  the  waves ;  but  the  three  other  sides,  over¬ 
grown  with  ivy  and  elder  bushes,  still  remain,  with  the 
strong  masonry  which  Ethelbert  must  have  seen  and 
handled ;  and  within  the  enclosure  stand  the  venerable 
ruins  of  the  church,  with  its  two  towers,  which  after¬ 
wards  rose  on  the  site  of  Ethelbert’s  palace. 

This  wild  spot  is  the  scene  which  most  closely  con¬ 
nects  itself  with  the  remembrance  of  that  good  Saxon 
king,  and  it  long  disputed  with  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey 
the  honor  of  his  burial-place.  Even  down  to  the  time 
of  King  James  I.,  a  monument  was  to  be  seen  in  the 
south  transept  of  the  church  of  Reculver,  professing  to 
cover  his  remains ; 1  and  down  to  our  own  time,  I  am 
told,  a  board  was  affixed  to  the  wall  with  the  inscription 
“  Here  lies  Ethelbert,  Kentish  king  whilom/’  This,  how¬ 
ever,  may  have  been  Ethelbert  II. ;  and  all  authority  leans 
to  the  story  that,  after  a  long  reign  of  forty-eight  years 
(dying  on  the  24th  of  February,  616),  he  was  laid  side 
by  side  with  his  first  wife  Bertha,2  on  the  south  side  of 

1  Weever,  Funeral  Monuments,  p.  260. 

2  That  he  had  a  second  wife  appears  from  the  allusion  to  her  in 


616.] 


PRIMACY  OF  CANTERBURY. 


53 


St.  Martin’s  altar  in  the  Church  of  St.  Augustine,1  and 
there,  somewhere  in  the  field  around  the  ruins  of  the 
abbey,  his  bones,  with  those  of  Bertha  and  Augustine,2 
probably  still  repose  and  may  possibly  be  discovered. 

These  are  all  the  direct  traces  which  Augustine  and 
Ethelbert  have  left  amongst  us.  Viewed  in  this  light 
they  will  become  so  many  finger-posts,  pointing  your 
thoughts  along  various  roads,  to  times  and  countries 
far  away,  —  always  useful  and  pleasant  in  this  busy 
world  in  which  we  live.  But  in  that  busy  world  itself 
they  have  left  traces  also,  which  we  shall  do  well 
briefly  to  consider  before  we  bid  farewell  to  that  ancient 
Boman  prelate  and  that  ancient  Saxon  chief.  I  do  not 
now  speak  of  the  one  great  change  of  our  conversion  to 
Christianity,  which  is  too  extensive  and  too  serious  a 

the  story  of  his  son  Eadbald  (Bede,  ii.  §  102),  but  her  name  is  never 
mentioned. 

1  Thorn,  1767  ;  Bede,  ii.  §§  100,  101. 

2  In  the  “  Acta  Sanctorum  ”  for  Feb.  24  (p.  478),  a  strange  ghost- 
story  is  told  of  Etlielbert’s  tomb,  not  without  interest  from  its  connec¬ 
tion  with  the  previous  history.  The  priest  who  had  the  charge  of  the 
tomb  had  neglected  it.  One  night,  as  he  was  in  the  chapel,  there  suddenly 
issued  from  the  tomb,  in  a  blaze  of  light  which  filled  the  whole  apse, 
the  figure  of  a  boy,  with  a  torch  in  his  hand  :  long  golden  hair  flowed 
round  his  shoulders ;  his  face  was  as  white  as  snow ;  his  eyes  shone 
like  stars.  He  rebuked  the  priest  and  retired  into  his  tomb.  Is  it 
possible  that  the  story  of  this  apparition  was  connected  with  the  tradi¬ 
tional  description  of  the  three  children  at  Rome  ? 

There  was  a  statue  of  Ethelbert  in  the  south  chapel  or  apse  of  St. 
Pancras  (Thorn,  1677),  long  since  destroyed.  But  in  the  screen  of 
the  cathedral  choir,  of  the  fifteenth  century,  he  may  still  be  seen  as  the 
founder  of  the  cathedral,  with  the  model  of  the  church  in  his  hand.  He 
was  canonized ;  but  probably  as  a  saint  he  was  less  popularly  known 
than  Saint  Ethelbert  of  Hereford,  with  whom  he  is  sometimes  confused. 

His  epitaph  was  a  curious  instance  of  rhyming  Latinity  :  — 

“  Rex  Ethelbertus  hie  clauditur  in  polyandro, 

Fana  pians,  Christo  meat  absque  meandro.” 

Speed,  215. 


54 


PRIMACY  OF  CANTERBURY. 


[616. 


subject  to  be  treated  of  on  the  present  occasion.  But 
the  particular  manner  in  which  Christianity  was  thus 
planted  is  in  so  many  ways  best  understood  by  going 
back  to  that  time,  that  I  shall  not  scruple  to  call  your 
attention  to  it. 

First,  the  arrival  of  Augustine  explains  to  us  at  once 
why  the  primate  of  this  great  Church,  the  first  subject 
of  this  great  empire,  should  be  Archbishop  not  of 
London,  but  of  Canterbury.  It  had  been  Gregory’s 
intention  to  fix  the  primacy  in  London  and  York 
alternately;  but  the  local  feelings  which  grew  out  of 
Augustine’s  landing  in  Kent  were  too  strong  for  him, 
and  they  have  prevailed  to  this  day.1  Humble  as  Can¬ 
terbury  may  now  be,  —  “  Kent  itself  but  a  corner  of 
England,  and  Canterbury  seated  in  a  corner  of  that 
corner,”  2  —  yet  so  long  as  an  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
exists,  so  long  as  the  Church  of  England  exists,  Can¬ 
terbury  can  never  forget  that  it  had  the  glory  of  being 
the  cradle  of  English  Christianity.  And  that  glory  it 
had  in  consequence  of  a  few  simple  causes,  far  back 
in  the  mist  of  ages,  —  the  shore  between  the  cliffs 
of  Bamsgate  and  of  the  South  Foreland,  which  made 
the  shores  of  Kent  the  most  convenient  landing-place 
for  the  Italian  missionaries  ;  the  marriage  of  the  wild 
Saxon  king  of  Kent  with  a  Christian  princess ;  and 
the  good  English  common  sense  of  Ethelbert  when 
the  happy  occasion  arrived. 

1  Greg.  Epp.,  xii.  15.  Gervase  (Acta  Pont.,  pp.  1131, 1132),  thinking 
that  by  this  letter  the  Pope  established  three  primacies,  —  one  at  Lon¬ 
don,  one  at  Canterbury,  and  one  at  York,  —  needlessly  perplexes  him¬ 
self  to  reconcile  such  a  distribution  with  the  geography  of  Britain, 
and  arrives  at  the  conclusion  that  the  Pope  “  licet  Sancti  Spiritus  sa- 
crarium  esset,”  yet  had  fallen  into  the  error  of  supposing  each  of  the 
cities  to  be  equidistant  from  the  other. 

2  Fuller,  Church  History,  book  ii.  §  viii.  4,  in  speaking  of  the  term 
porary  transference  of  the  primacy  to  Lichfield. 


616.]  EXTENT  OF  ENGLISH  DIOCESES.  55 

Secondly,  we  may  see,  in  the  present  constitution  of 
Church  and  State  in  England,  what  are  far  more  truly 
the  footmarks  of  Gregory  and  Augustine  than  that 
fictitious  footmark  which  he  was  said  to  have  left  at 
Ebbe’s  Fleet. 

There  are  letters  from  Gregory  to  Augustine,  which 
give  him  excellent  advice  for  his  missionary  course,  — 
advice  which  all  missionaries  would  do  well  to  con¬ 
sider,  and  of  which  the  effects  are  to  this  day  visible 
amongst  us.  Let  me  mention  two  or  three  of  these 
points.  The  first,  perhaps,  is  more  curious  than  gen¬ 
erally  interesting.  Any  of  you  who  have  ever  read 
or  seen  the  state  of  foreign  churches  and  countries 
may  have  been  struck  by  one  great  difference,  which  I 
believe  distinguishes  England  from  all  other  churches 
in  the  world ;  and  that  is,  the  great  size  of  its  dioceses. 
In  foreign  countries  you  will  generally  find  a  bishop’s 
see  in  every  large  town;  so  that  he  is,  in  fact,  more 
like  a  clergyman  of  a  large  parish  than  what  we  call 
the  bishop  of  a  diocese.  It  is  a  very  important  char¬ 
acteristic  of  the  English  Church  that  the  opposite 
should  be  the  case  with  us.  In  some  respects  it  has 
been  a  great  disadvantage ;  in  other  respects,  I  believe, 
a  great  advantage.  The  formation  of  the  English  sees 
was  very  gradual,  and  the  completion  of  the  number  of 
twenty-four  did  not  take  place  till  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.  But  it  is  curious  that  this  should  have  been 
precisely  the  same  number  fixed  in  Gregory’s  instruc¬ 
tions  to  Augustine ;  and,  at  any  rate,  the  great  size  of 
the  dioceses  was  in  conformity  with  his  suggestions. 
Britain,  as  I  have  said  several  times,  was  to  him 
almost  an  unknown  island.  Probably  he  thought 
it  might  be  about  the  size  of  Sicily  or  Sardinia,  the 
only  large  islands  he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  twenty- 


56  TOLERATION  OF  CHRISTIAN  DIVERSITIES.  [616. 

four  bishoprics  would  be  sufficient.  At  any  rate,  so 
he  divided,  and  so,  with  the  variation  of  giving  only 
four,  instead  of  twelve,  to  the  province  of  York,  it  was, 
consciously  or  unconsciously,  followed  out  in  after 
times.  The  kings  of  the  various  kingdoms  seem  to 
have  encouraged  the  practice,  each  making  the  bish¬ 
opric  co-extensive  with  his  kingdom ; 1  so  that  the 
bishop  of  the  diocese  was  also  chief  pastor  of  the  tribe, 
succeeding  in  all  probability  to  the  post  which  the 
chaplain  or  high-priest  of  the  king  had  held  in  the  days 
of  paganism.  And  it  may  be  remarked  that,  whether 
from  an  imitation  of  England  or  from  a  similarity  of 
circumstances,  the  sees  of  Germany2  (in  this  respect 
an  exception  to  the  usual  practice  of  continental  Eu¬ 
rope)  and  of  Scotland  are  of  great  extent. 

But,  further,  Gregory  gave  directions  as  to  the  two 
points  which  probably  most  perplex  missionaries,  and 
which  at  once  beset  Augustine.  The  first  concerned 
his  dealings  with  other  Christian  communities.  Au¬ 
gustine  had  passed  through  Erance,  and  saw  there 
customs  very  different  from  what  he  had  seen  in  Borne ; 
and  he  was  now  come  to  Britain,  where  there  were 
still  remnants  of  the  old  British  churches,  with  cus¬ 
toms  very  different  from  what  he  had  seen  either  in 
Erance  or  Borne.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  The  answer 
of  Gregory  was,  that  whatever  custom  he  found  really 
good  and  pleasing  to  God,  whether  in  the  Church  of 
Italy  or  of  France,  or  any  other,  he  was  to  adopt  it, 
and  use  it  in  his  new  Church  of  England.  “  Things,” 
he  says,  “  are  not  to  be  loved  for  the  sake  of  places,  but 
places  for  the  sake  of  things.”  3 

1  See  Kemble’s  Saxons,  book  ii.  chap.  viii. 

2  Germany  was,  it  should  be  remembered,  converted  by  Englishmen. 

3  Bede,  i.  27,  §  60. 


616.]  TOLERATION  OF  HEATHEN  CUSTOMS. 


57 


It  was  indeed  a  truly  wise  and  liberal  maxim,  —  one 
which  would  have  healed  many  feuds,  one  which  per¬ 
haps  Augustine  himself  might  have  followed  more  than 
he  did.  It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  the  effect 
of  this  advice  has  reached  to  our  own  time ;  but  it 
often  happens  that  the  first  turn  given  to  the  spirit 
of  an  institution  lasts  long  after  its  first  founder  has 
passed  away,  and  in  channels  quite  different  from  those 
which  he  contemplated ;  and  when  we  think  what  the 
Church  of  England  is  now,  I  confess  there  is  a  satis¬ 
faction  in  thinking  that  at  least  in  this  respect  it  has 
in  some  measure  fulfilled  the  wishes  of  Gregory  the 
Great.  There  is  no  church  in  the  world  which  has 
combined  such  opposite  and  various  advantages  from 
other  churches  more  exclusive  than  itself,  —  none  in 
which  various  characters  and  customs  from  the  oppo¬ 
site  parts  of  the  Christian  world  could  have  been  able 
to  find  such  shelter  and  refuge. 

Another  point  was  how  to  deal  with  the  pagan  cus¬ 
toms  and  ceremonies  which  already  existed  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  kingdom.  Were  they  to  be  entirely  de¬ 
stroyed,  or  were  they  to  be  tolerated  so  far  as  was  not 
absolutely  incompatible  with  the  Christian  religion  ? 
And  here  again  Gregory  gave  to  Augustine  the  advice 
which,  certainly  as  far  as  we  could  judge,  Saint  Paul 
would  have  given,  and  which  in  spirit  at  least  is  an 
example  always.  “  He  had  thought  much  on  the  sub¬ 
ject, ’’  he  says,  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  hea¬ 
then  temples  were  not  to  be  destroyed,  but  turned 
whenever  possible  into  Christian  churches;1  that  the 

1  To  Ethelbert  he  had  expressed  himself,  apparently  in  an  earlier 
letter,  more  strongly  against  the  temples.  (Bede,  i.  32,  §  76.)  “  Was 

it  settled  policy,”  asks  Dean  Milman,  “  or  mature  reflection,  which  led 
the  Pope  to  devolve  the  more  odious  duty  of  the  total  abolition  of  idola¬ 
try  on  the  temporal  power,  the  barbarian  king ;  while  it  permitted  the 


58  TOLERATION  OE  HEATHEN  CUSTOMS.  [616. 

droves  of  oxen  which  used  to  be  killed  in  sacrifice 
were  still  to  be  killed  for  feasts  for  the  poor ;  and  that 
the  lints  which  they  used  to  make  of  boughs  of  trees 
round  the  temples  were  still  to  be  used  for  amuse¬ 
ments  on  Christian  festivals.  And  he  gives  as  the 
reason  for  this,  that  “  for  hard  and  rough  minds  it  is 
impossible  to  cut  away  abruptly  all  their  old  customs, 
because  he  who  wishes  to  reach  the  highest  place  must 
ascend  by  steps  and  not  by  jumps.”  1 

How  this  was  followed  out  in  England,  is  evident. 
In  Canterbury  we  have  already  seen  how  the  old  hea¬ 
then  temple  of  Ethelbert  was  turned  into  the  Church 
of  St.  Pancras.  In  the  same  manner  the  sites  granted 
by  Ethelbert  for  St.  Paul’s  in  London,  and  St.  Peter’s 
in  Westminster,  were  both  originally  places  of  heathen 
worship.  This  appropriation  of  heathen  buildings  is 
the  more  remarkable,  inasmuch  as  it  had  hitherto  been 
very  unusual  in  Western  Christendom.  In  Egypt,  in¬ 
deed,  the  temples  were  usually  converted  into  Christian 
churches,  and  the  intermixture  of  Coptic  saints  with 
Egyptian  gods  is  one  of  the  strangest  sights  that  the 
traveller  sees  in  the  monuments  of  tfiat  strange  land. 
In  Greece,  also,  the  Parthenon  and  the  temple  of  The¬ 
seus  are  well-known  instances.  But  in  Pome  it  was 
very  rare.  The  Pantheon,  now  dedicated  to  All  Saints, 
is  almost  the  only  example ;  and  this  dedication  itself 
took  place  four  years  after  Gregory’s  death,  and  prob¬ 
ably  in  consequence  of  his  known  views.  The  frag¬ 
ment  of  the  Church  of  St.  Pancras  —  the  nucleus,  as 
we  have  seen,  of  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey  —  thus  be- 


milder  or  more  winning  course  to  the  clergy,  the  protection  of  the  hal¬ 
lowed  places  and  images  of  the  heathen  from  insult  by  consecrating 
them  to  holier  uses  ?  ” —  History  of  Latin  Christianity ,  ii.  59. 

1  Bede,  i.  30,  §  74. 


616.]  GREAT  RESULTS  FROM  SMALL  BEGINNINGS.  59 

comes  a  witness  to  an  important  principle ;  and  the 
legend  of  the  Devil’s  claw  reads  ns  the  true  lesson, 
that  the  evil  spirit  can  be  cast  out  of  institutions 
without  destroying  them.  Gregory’s  advice  is,  indeed, 
but  the  counterpart  of  John  Wesley’s  celebrated  say¬ 
ing  about  church  music,  that  “  it  was  a  great  pity  the 
Devil  should  have  all  the  best  tunes  to  himself ; and 
the  principle  which  it  involved,  coming  from  one  in 
his  commanding  position,  probably  struck  root  far 
and  wide,  not  only  in  England,  but  throughout  West¬ 
ern  Christendom.  One  familiar  instance  is  to  be  found 
in  the  toleration  of  the  heathen  names  of  the  days  of 
the  weeks.  Every  one  of  these  is  called,  as  we  all 
know,  after  the  name  of  some  Saxon  god  or  goddess, 
whom  Ethelbert  worshipped  in  the  days  of  his  pagan¬ 
ism.  Through  all  the  changes  of  Saxon  and  Norman, 
Roman  Catholic  and  Protestant,  these  names  have 
survived,  but,  most  striking  of  all,  through  the  great 
change  from  heathenism  to  Christianity.1  They  have 
survived,  and  rightly,  because  there  is  no  harm  in  their 
intention ;  and  if  there  is  no  harm,  it  is  a  clear  gain  to 
keep  up  old  names  and  customs,  when  their  evil  inten¬ 
tion  is  passed  away.  They,  like  the  ruin  of  St.  Pancras, 
are  standing  witnesses  of  Gregory’s  wisdom  and  mod¬ 
eration,  —  standing  examples  to  us  that  Christianity 
does  not  require  us  to  trample  on  the  customs  even 
of  a  heathen  world,  if  we  can  divest  them  of  their 
mischief. 

Lastly,  the  mission  of  Augustine  is  one  of  the  most 
striking  instances  in  all  history  of  the  vast  results 
which  may  flow  from  a  very  small  beginning, —  of  the 

1  See  a  full  and  most  interesting  discussion  of  the  whole  subject  of 
the  heathen  names  of  the  week  days,  in  Grimm’s  Deutsche  Mythologie, 
i.  111-128. 


60  GREAT  RESULTS  FROM  SMALL  BEGINNINGS.  [616. 

immense  effects  produced  by  a  single  thought  in  the 
heart  of  a  single  man,  carried  out  consistently,  delib¬ 
erately,  and  fearlessly.  Nothing  in  itself  could  seem 
more  trivial  than  the  meeting  of  Gregory  with  the 
three  Yorkshire  slaves  in  the  market-place  at  Eome; 
yet  this  roused  a  feeling  in  his  mind  which  he  never 
lost ;  and  through  all  the  obstacles  which  were  thrown 
first  in  his  own  way,  and  then  in  the  way  of  Augus¬ 
tine,  his  highest  desire  concerning  it  was  more  than 
realized.  And  this  was  even  the  more  remarkable 
when  we  remember  who  and  what  his  instruments 
were.  You  may  have  observed  that  I  have  said  little 
of  Augustine  himself,  and  that  for  two  reasons :  first, 
because  so  little  is  known  of  him ;  secondly,  because 
I  must  confess  that  what  little  is  told  of  him  leaves 
an  unfavorable  impression  behind.  We  cannot  doubt- 
that  he  was  an  active,  self-denying  man, —  his  coming 
here  through  so  many  dangers  of  sea  and  land  proves 
it,  —  and  it  would  be  ungrateful  and  ungenerous  not  to 
acknowledge  how  much  we  owe  to  him.  But  still  al¬ 
most  every  personal  trait  which  is  recorded  of  him 
shows  us  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  any  great  elevation 
of  character,  —  that  he  was  often  thinking  of  himself, 
or  of  his  order,  when  we  should  have  wished  him  to  be 
thinking  of  the  great  cause  he  had  in  hand.  We  see 
this  in  his  drawing  back  from  his  journey  in  France  ; 
we  see  it  in  the  additional  power  which  he  claimed 
from  Gregory  over  his  own  companions ;  we  see  it  in 
the  warnings  sent  to  him  by  Gregory,  that  he  was  not 
to  be  puffed  up  by  the  wonders  he  had  wrought  in 
Britain ;  we  see  it  in  the  haughty  severity  with  which 
he  treated  the  remnant  of  British  Christians  in  Wales, 
not  rising  when  they  approached,  and  uttering  that 
malediction  against  them  which  sanctioned,  if  it  did 


616.]  GREAT  RESULTS  EROM  SMALL  BEGINNINGS.  61 


not  instigate,  their  massacre  by  the  Saxons ;  we  see  it 
in  the  legends  which  grew  up  after  his  death,  telling 
us  how,  because  the  people  of  Stroud  insulted  him  by 
fastening  a  fish-tail  to  his  back,1  he  cursed  them,  and 
brought  down  on  the  whole  population  the  curse  of 
being  born  with  tails. 

I  mention  all  this,  not  to  disparage  our  great  bene¬ 
factor  and  first  archbishop,  but  partly  because  we 
ought  to  have  our  eyes  open  to  the  truth  even  about 
our  best  friends,  partly  to  show  what  I  have  said  be¬ 
fore,  from  what  small  beginnings  and  through  what 
weak  instruments  Gregory  accomplished  his  mighty 
work.  It  would  have  been  a  mighty  work,  even  if  it 
had  been  no  more  than  Gregory  and  Augustine  them¬ 
selves  imagined.  They  thought,  no  doubt,  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  conversion,  as  we  might  think  of  the 
conversion  of  barbarous  tribes  in  India  or  Africa, — 
numerous  and  powerful  themselves,  but  with  no  great 
future  results.  How  far  beyond  their  widest  vision 
that  conversion  has  reached,  may  best  be  seen  at 
Canterbury. 

Let  any  one  sit  on  the  hill  of  the  little  Church  of  St. 
Martin,  and  look  on  the  view  which  is  there  spread  be¬ 
fore  his  eyes.  Immediately  below  are  the  towers  of 
the  great  Abbey  of  St.  Augustine,  where  Christian 
learning  and  civilization  first  struck  root  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race;2  and  within  which  now,  after  a  lapse  of 

1  Gocelin  notices  the  offence,  without  expressly  stating  the  punish¬ 
ment  (c.  41),  and  places  it  in  Dorsetshire.  The  story  is  given  in 
Harris’s  Kent,  p.  303;  in  Fuller’s  Church  History,  ii.  7,  §  22;  aud  iu 
Ray’s  Proverbs  (p.  233),  who  mentions  it  especially  as  a  Kentish 
story,  and  as  one  that  was  very  generally  believed  in  his  time  on  the 
Continent.  There  is  a  long  and  amusing  discussion  on  the  subject  in 
Lambard’s  Kent,  p.  400. 

2  I  have  forborne  to  dwell  on  any  traces  of  Augustine’s  mission  be¬ 
sides  those  which  were  left  at  the  time.  Otherwise  the  list  would  be 


62  GREAT  RESULTS  FROM  SMALL  BEGINNINGS.  [616. 

many  centuries,  a  new  institution  has  arisen,  intended 
to  carry  far  and  wide  to  countries  of  which  Gregory 
and  Augustine  never  heard,  the  blessings  which  they 
gave  to  us.  Carry  your  view  on,  —  and  there  rises 
high  above  all  the  magnificent  pile  of  our  cathedral, 
equal  in  splendor  and  state  to  any,  the  noblest  temple 
or  church  that  Augustine  could  have  seen  in  ancient 
Rome,  rising  on  the  very  ground  which  derives  its  con¬ 
secration  from  him.  And  still  more  than  the  grandeur 
of  the  outward  buildings  that  rose  from  the  little 
church  of  Augustine  and  the  little  palace  of  Ethelbert, 
have  been  the  institutions  of  all  kinds,  of  which  these 
were  the  earliest  cradle.  From  Canterbury,  the  first 
English  Christian  city;  from  Kent,  the  first  English 
Christian  kingdom,  —  has,  by  degrees,  arisen  the  whole 
constitution  of  Church  and  State  in  England  which 
now  binds  together  the  whole  British  Empire.  And 
from  the  Christianity  here  established  in  England  has 
flowed  by  direct  consequence,  first,  the  Christianity 
of  Germany;  then,  after  a  long  interval,  of  North 
America ;  and  lastly,  we  may  trust  in  time,  of  all  India 
and  all  Australasia.  The  view  from  St.  Martin’s 
Church  is  indeed  one  of  the  most  inspiriting  that  can 
be  found  in  the  world ;  there  is  none  to  which  I  would 
more  willingly  take  any  one  who  doubted  whether  a 
small  beginning  could  lead  to  a  great  and  lasting  good, 
—  none  which  carries  us  more  vividly  back  into  the 
past  or  more  hopefully  forward  to  the  future. 

much  enlarged  by  the  revival  of  the  ancient  associations,  visible  in 
St.  Augustine’s  College,  in  St.  Gregory’s  Church  and  burial-ground, 
and  in  the  restored  Church  of  St.  Martin  ;  where  the  windows,  although 
of  modern  date,  are  interesting  memorials  of  the  past,  —  especially 
that  which  represents  the  well-known  scene  of  Saint  Martin  dividing 
the  cloak. 


NOTE. 


63 


NOTE. 

The  statements  respecting  the  spot  of  Augustine’s  landing 
are  so  various  that  it  may  be  worth  while  to  give  briefly  the 
different  claimants,  in  order  to  simplify  the  statement  in  pages 
32-39. 

1.  Ebbe’s  Fleet.  For  this  the  main  reasons  are  :  (1)  The  fact 

that  it  was  the  usual  landing-place  in  ancient  Thanet,  as  is  shown 
by  the  tradition  that  Hengist,  Saint  Mildred,  and  the  Danes  came 
there.  (Lewis,  p.  83 ;  Hasted,  iv.  289.)  (2)  The  fact  that 

Bede’s  whole  narrative  emphatically  lands  Augustine  in  Thanet, 
and  not  on  the  mainland.  (3)  The  present  situation  with  the 
local  tradition,  as  described  in  page  33. 

2.  The  spot  called  the  Boarded  Groin  (Lewis,  p.  83),  also 
marked  in  the  Ordnance  Survey  as  the  landing-place  of  the 
Saxons.  But  this  must  then  have  been  covered  by  the  sea. 

3.  Stonar,  near  Sandwich.  (Sandwich  MS.,  in  Boys’  Sand¬ 
wich,  p.  836.)  But  this,  even  if  not  covered  by  the  sea,  must  have 
been  a  mere  island.  (Hasted,  iv.  585.) 

4.  Richborough.  (Ibid.,  p.  838.)  But  this  was  not  in  the  isle 
of  Thanet ;  and  the  story  is  probably  founded  partly  on  Thorn’s 
narrative  (1758),  which,  by  speaking  of  “Retesburgh,  in  insula 
Thaneti ,”  shows  that  he  means  the  whole  port,  and  partly  on  its 
having  been  actually  the  scene  of  the  final  debarkation  on  the 
mainland,  as  described  in  page  39. 


64 


ISLE  OE  THANET. 


MAP  OE  THE  ISLE  OF  THANET  AT  THE  TIME  OE  THE 
LANDING  OE  SAINT  AUGUSTINE. 


Present  line  of  coast - —  Ancient  towns,  as  Reculver . 

Present  towns,  as  Deal.  1,  2,  3,  4,  the  alleged  landing-places. 

Ancient  line  of  coast . 

Eor  the  best  account  of  the  Roman  Canterbury,  see  Mr.  Eaussett’s 
learned  Essay  read  before  the  Archseological  Institute,  July  1,  1875. 


THE  MURDER  OF  BECKET. 

REPRINTED,  WITH  ADDITIONS, 

FROM  THE  “QUARTERLY  REVIEW,”  SEPTEMBER,  1853. 


5 


THE  MURDER  OF  BECKET. 


VERY  one  is  familiar  with  the  reversal  of  popular 


U  judgments  respecting  individuals  or  events  of  our 
own  time.  It  would  be  an  easy  though  perhaps  an  invidi¬ 
ous  task,  to  point  out  the  changes  from  obloquy  to  ap¬ 
plause,  and  from  applause  to  obloquy,  which  the  present 
generation  has  witnessed ;  and  it  would  be  instructive 
to  examine  in  each  case  how  far  these  changes  have 
been  justified  by  the  facts.  What  thoughtful  observers 
may  thus  notice  in  the  passing  opinions  of  the  day,  it 
is  the  privilege  of  history  to  track  through  the  course 
of  centuriesi  Of  such  vicissitudes  in  the  judgment  of 
successive  ages,  one  of  the  most  striking  is  to  be  found 
in  the  conflicting  feelings  with  which  different  epochs 
have  regarded  the  contest  of  Becket  with  Henry  II. 
During  its  continuance  the  public  opinion  of  England 
and  of  Europe  was,  if  not  unfavorable  to  the  Arch¬ 
bishop,  at  least  strongly  divided.  After  its  tragical 
close,  the  change  from  indifference  or  hostility  to  un¬ 
bounded  veneration  was  instantaneous.  In  certain 
circles  his  saintship,  and  even  his  salvation,1  was  ques¬ 
tioned  ;  hut  these  were  exceptions  to  the  general  enthu¬ 
siasm.  This  veneration,  after  a  duration  of  more  than 
three  centuries,  was  superseded,  at  least  in  England,  by 


1  14  Robertson,  p.  312. 


68  VARIETY  OE  JUDGMENTS  ON  THE  EVENT. 


a  contempt  as  general  and  profound  as  had  been  the 
previous  admiration.  And  now,  after  three  centuries 
more,  the  revolution  of  the  wheel  of  fortune  has  again 
brought  up,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  worshippers  of 
the  memory  of  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  who  rival 
the  most  undoubting  devotee  that  ever  knelt  at  his 
shrine  in  the  reign  of  the  Plantagenet  kings.  Indica¬ 
tions1  are  not  wanting  that  the  pendulum  which  has 
been  so  violently  swung  to  and  fro  is  at  last  about  to 
settle  into  its  proper  place ;  and  we  may  trust  that  on 
this,  as  on  many  other  controverted  historical  points,  a 
judgment  will  be  pronounced  in  our  own  times,  which, 
if  not  irreversible,  is  less  likely  to  be  reversed  than 
those  which  have  gone  before.  But  it  may  contribute 
to  the  decision  upon  the  merits  of  the  general  question, 
if  a  complete  picture  is  presented  of  the  passage  of  hig 
career  which  has  left  by  far  the  most  indelible  impres¬ 
sion,  —  its  terrible  close.  And  even  though  the  famous 
catastrophe  had  not  turned  the  course  of  events  for 
generations  to  come,  and  exercised  an  influence  which 
is  not  yet  fully  exhausted,  it  would  still  deserve  to  be 
minutely  described,  from  its  intimate  connection  with 


1  The  Rev.  J.  C.  Robertson,  since  Canon  of  Canterbury,  was  the 
first  author  who,  in  two  articles  in  the  “English  Review”  of  1846, 
took  a  detailed  and  impartial  survey  of  the  whole  struggle.  To  these 
articles  I  have  to  acknowledge  a  special  obligation,  as  having  first 
introduced  me  to  the  copious  materials  from  which  this  account  is  de¬ 
rived.  This  summary  has  since  been  expanded  into  a  full  biography. 
A  shorter  view  of  the  struggle  may  be  seen  in  the  narrative  given  by 
the  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s,  in  the  third  volume  of  the  “  History  of  Latin 
Christianity,”  and  in  the  “  History  of  England,”  by  Dr.  Pauli,  to  whose 
kindness  I  have  been  also  much  indebted  for  some  of  the  sources  of 
the  “  martyrdom.”  An  interesting  account  of  Becket’s  death  is  affixed 
to  the  collection  of  his  letters  published  in  the  “  Remains  of  the  Late 
Mr.  Froude.”  But  that  account,  itself  pervaded  by  a  one-sided  view, 
is  almost  exclusively  drawn  from  a  single  source,  the  narrative  of 
Fitzstephen. 


SOURCES  OF  INFORMATION. 


69 


the  stateliest  of  English  cathedrals  and  with  the  first 
great  poem  of  the  English  language. 

The  labor  of  Dr.  Giles  has  collected  no  less  than 
nineteen  biographies,  or  fragments  of  biographies,  all  of 
which  appear  to  have  been  written  within  fifty  years  of 
the  murder,  and  some  of  which  are  confined  to  that  sin¬ 
gle  subject.1  To  these  we  must  add  the  French  biogra¬ 
phy  in  verse  2  by  Guerns,  or  Gamier,  of  Pont  S.  Maxence, 
which  was  composed  only  five  years  after  the  event,  — 
the  more  interesting  from  being  the  sole  record  which 
gives  the  words  of  the  actors  in  the  language  in  which 
they  spoke  ;  and  although  somewhat  later,  that  by 
Eobert  of  Gloucester  in  the  thirteenth,3  and  by  Grandi- 
son,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  in  the  fourteenth  century.4  W e 
must  also  include  the  contemporary  or  nearly  contem¬ 
porary  chroniclers,  —  Gervase,  Diceto,  Hoveden,  and 
Giraldus  Cambrensis  and  the  fragment  from  the  Lans- 
downe  MS.  edited  by  Canon  Eobertson ; 5  and,  in  the 
next  century,  Matthew  Paris  and  Brompton. 

Of  these  thirty  narrators,  four  —  Edward  Grim, 
William  Fitzstephen,  John  of  Salisbury  (who  unfortu¬ 
nately  supplies  but  little),  and  the  anonymous  author 
of  the  Lambeth  MS.  —  claim  to  have  been  eyewitnesses. 
Three  others  —  William  of  Canterbury,6  Benedict,  after- 

1  Vitae  et  Epistolae  S.  Thomae  Cantuariensis,  ed.  Giles,  8  vols. 

2  Part  of  the  poem  was  published  by  Emmanuel  Bekker,  in  the 
Berlin  Transactions,  1838,  part  ii.  pp.  25-168,  from  a  fragment  in  the 
Wolfenbuttel  MSS. ;  and  the  whole  has  since  appeared  in  the  same 
Transactions,  1844,  from  a  manuscript  in  the  British  Museum.  It  was 
also  published  in  Paris,  by  Le  Roux  de  Lancy,  in  1843. 

3  This  metrical  “‘Life  and  Martyrdom  of  Saint  Thomas  ”  (composed 
in  the  reign  of  Henry  III.)  has  been  printed  for  the  Percy  Society,  and 
edited  by  Mr.  Black. 

4  Grandison’s  Life  exists  only  in  manuscript.  The  copy  which  I  have 
used  is  in  the  Bodleian  Library  (MS.  493). 

6  Archseologia  Cantiana,  vii.  210. 

6  A  complete  manuscript  of  William  of  Canterbury  has  been  found 


70 


SOURCES  OF  INFORMATION. 


wards  Abbot  of  Peterborough,  and  Gervase  of  Canter¬ 
bury  —  were  monks  of  the  convent,  and,  though  not 
present  at  the  massacre,  were  probably  somewhere  in 
the  precincts.  Herbert  of  Bosham,  Roger  of  Pontigny, 
and  Gamier,  though  not  in  England  at  the  time,  had 
been  on  terms  of  intercourse  more  or  less  intimate  with 
Becket,  and  the  two  latter  especially  seem  to  have  taken 
the  utmost  pains  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  facts 
they  relate.  From  these  several  accounts  we  can  re¬ 
cover  the  particulars  of  the  death  of  Archbishop  Becket 
to  the  minutest  details.  It  is  true  that,  being  written 
by  monastic  or  clerical  historians  after  the  national 
feeling  had  been  roused  to  enthusiasm  in  his  behalf, 
allowance  must  be  made  for  exaggeration,  suppression, 
and  every  kind  of  false  coloring  which  could  set  off 
their  hero  to  advantage.  It  is  true,  also,  that  on  some- 
few  points  the  various  authorities  are  hopelessly  irrec¬ 
oncilable.  But,  still,  a  careful  comparison  of  the  narra¬ 
tors  with  each  other  and  with  the  localities  leads  to  a 
conviction  that  on  the  whole  the  facts  have  been  sub¬ 
stantially  preserved,  and  that,  as  often  happens,  the  truth 
can  be  ascertained  in  spite,  and  even  in  consequence, 
of  attempts  to  distort  and  suppress  it.  Accordingly,  few 
occurrences  in  the  Middle  Ages  have  been  so  graphi¬ 
cally  and  copiously  described,  and  few  give  such  an 
insight  into  the  manners  and  customs,  the  thoughts  and 
feelings,  not  only  of  the  man  himself,  but  of  the  entire 
age,  as  the  eventful  tragedy,  known  successively  as  the 
“  martyrdom,”  the  “  accidental  death,”  the  “  righteous 
execution,”  and  the  “  murder  of  Thomas  Becket.” 

The  year  1170  witnessed  the  termination  of  the 
struggle  of  eight  years  between  the  king  and  the 

by  Mr.  Robertson  at  Winchester,  of  which  parts  are  published  in  the 
Arcliasologia  Cantiana,”  vi.  4. 


1170.] 


CORONATION  OF  HENRY  III. 


71 


Archbishop ;  in  July  the  final  reconciliation  had  been 
effected  with  Henry  in  France;  in  the  beginning  of 
December,  Becket  had  landed  at  Sandwich,1  —  the  port 
of  the  Archbishops  of  Canterbury,  —  and  thence  entered 
the  metropolitical  city,  after  an  absence  of  six  years, 
amidst  the  acclamations  of  the  people.  The  cathedral 
was  hung  with  silken  drapery ;  magnificent  banquets 
were  prepared;  the  churches  resounded  with  organs 
and  bells,  the  palace-hall  with  trumpets ;  and  the  Arch¬ 
bishop  preached  in  the  chapter-house  on  the  text  “  Here 
we  have  no  abiding  city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come.”2 
Great  difficulties,  however,  still  remained.  In  addition 
to  the  general  question  of  the  immunities  of  the  clergy 
from  secular  jurisdiction,  which  was  the  original  point 
in  dispute  between  the  king  and  the  Archbishop,  another 
had  arisen  within  this  very  year,  of  much  less  impor¬ 
tance  in  itself,  but  which  now  threw  the  earlier  contro¬ 
versy  into  the  shade,3  and  eventually  brought  about  the 
final  catastrophe.  In  the  preceding  June,  Henry,  with 
the  view  of  consolidating  his  power  in  England,  had 
caused  his.  eldest  son  to  be  crowned  king,  not  merely 
as  his  successor,  but  as  his  colleague,  insomuch  that 
by  contemporary  chroniclers  he  is  always  called  “  the 
young  king,”  sometimes  even  “Henry  III.”4  In  the 
absence  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  the  ceremony 
of  coronation  was  performed  by  Boger  of  Bishop’s 
Bridge,  Archbishop  of  York,  assisted  by  Gilbert  Foliot 
and  Jocelyn  the  Lombard,  Bishops  of  London  and  of 
Salisbury,  under  (what  was  at  least  believed  to  be)  the 
sanction  of  a  Papal  brief.5  The  moment  the  intelli- 

1  Gamier,  59,  9.  2  Fitzstephen,  ed.  Giles,  i.  283. 

3  Giles,  Epp.,  i.  65. 

4  Hence,  perhaps,  the  precision  with  which  the  number  “III.”  is 
added  (for  the  first  time)  on  the  coins  of  Henry  III. 

5  See  Milman’s  History  of  Latin  Christianity,  iii.  510,  511. 


72  CONTROVERSY  WITH  ARCHBISHOP  OP  YORK.  [1170. 


gence  was  communicated  to  Becket,  who  was  then  in 
France,  a  new  blow  seemed  to  he  struck  at  his  rights ; 
hut  this  time  it  was  not  the  privileges  of  his  order,  but 
of  his  office,  that  were  attacked.  The  inalienable  right 1 
of  crowning  the  sovereigns  of  England,  from  the  time 
of  Augustine  downwards,  inherent  in  the  See  of  Canter- 

1  This  contest  with  Becket  for  the  privileges  of  the  See  of  York, 
though  the  most  important,  was  not  the  only  one  which  Archbishop 
Roger  sustained.  At  the  Court  of  Northampton  their  crosses  had  al¬ 
ready  confronted  each  other,  like  hostile  spears.  (Fitzstephen,  226.) 
It  was  a  standing  question  between  the  two  Archbishops,  and  Roger 
continued  to  maintain  pre-eminence  of  his  see  against  Becket ’s  succes¬ 
sor.  “  In  1176,”  says  Fuller,  “  a  synod  was  called  at  Westminster,  the 
Pope’s  legate  being  present  thereat ;  on  whose  right  hand  sat  Richard, 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  as  in  his  proper  place  ;  when  in  springs 
Roger  of  York,  and  finding  Canterbury  so  seated,  fairly  sits  him 
down  on  Canterbury’s  lap,  “irreverently  pressing  his  haunches  down 
upon  the  Archbishop,”  says  Stephen  of  Birchington.  “  It  matters  as 
little  to  the  reader  as  to  the  writer,”  the  historian  continues,  “  whether 
Roger  beat  Richard,  or  Richard  beat  Roger ;  yet,  once  for  all,  we  will 
reckon  up  the  arguments  which  each  see  alleged  for  its  proceedings,” 
—  which  accordingly  follow  with  his  usual  racy  humor.  (Fuller’s 
Church  History,  iii.  §3  ;  see  also  Memorials  of  Westminster,  chap,  v.) 
Nor  was  York  the  only  see  which  contested  the  Primacy  of  Canter¬ 
bury  at  this  momentous  crisis.  Gilbert  Foliot  endeavored  in  his  own 
person  to  revive  the  claims  of  London,  which  had  been  extinct  from 
the  fabulous  age  of  Lucius,  son  of  Cole.  “  He  aims,”  says  John  of 
Salisbury,  in  an  epistle  burning  with  indignation,  —  “  he  aims  at  trans¬ 
ferring  the  metropolitical  see  to  London,  where  he  boasts  that  the 
Archfiamen  once  sate,  whilst  Jupiter  was  worshipped  there.  And  who 
knows  but  that  this  religious  and  discreet  bishop  is  planning  the 
restoration  of  the  worship  of  Jupiter ;  so  that,  if  he  cannot  get  the 
Archbishopric  in  any  other  way,  he  may  have  at  least  the  name  and 
title  of  Archfiamen  ?  He  relies,”  continues  the  angry  partisan,  “  on  an 
oracle  of  Merlin,  who,  inspired  by  I  know  not  what  spirit,  is  said  be¬ 
fore  Augustine's  coming  to  have  prophesied  the  transference  of  the 
dignity  of  Canterbury  to  London.”  (Ussher,  Brit.  Eccl.  Ant.,  p.  711.) 
The  importance  attached  to  this  question  of  coronation  may  be  further 
illustrated  by  the  long  series  of  effigies  of  the  primates  of  Germany,  in 
Mayence  Cathedral,  where  the  Archbishops  of  that  see  —  the  Canter¬ 
bury  of  the  German  Empire  —  are  represented  in  the  act  of  crowning 
the  German  Emperors  as  the  most  characteristic  trait  in  their  archi- 
episcopal  careers. 


1170.]  CONTROVERSY  WITH  ARCHBISHOP  OF  YORK.  73 

bury,  had  been  infringed ;  and  with  his  usual  ardor  he 
procured  from  the  Pope  letters  against  the  three  prel¬ 
ates  who  had  taken  part  in  the  daring  act,  probably 
with  the  authority  of  the  Pope  himself.  These  letters 
consisted  of  a  suspension  of  the  Archbishop  of  York, 
and  a  revival  of  a  former  excommunication  of  the  Bish¬ 
ops  of  London  and  Salisbury.  His  earliest  thought 
on  landing  in  England  was  to  get  them  conveyed  to  the 
offending  prelates,  who  were  then  at  Dover.  They  sent 
some  clerks  to  remonstrate  with  him  at  Canterbury ; 
but  finding  that  he  was  not  to  be  moved,  they  em¬ 
barked  for  Prance,  leaving,  however,  a  powerful  auxil¬ 
iary  in  the  person  of  Eandulf  de  Broc,  a  knight  to 
whom  the  king  had  granted  possession  of  the  archi- 
episcopal  castle  of  Saltwood,  and  who  was  for  this,  if  for 
no  other  reason,  a  sworn  enemy  to  Becket  and  his  re¬ 
turn.  The  first  object  of  the  Archbishop  was  to  con¬ 
ciliate  the  young  king,  who  was  then  at  Woodstock ; 
and  his  mode  of  courting  him  was  characteristic.  Three 
splendid  1  chargers,  of  which  his  previous  experience  of 
horses  enabled  him  to  know  the  merits,  were  the  gift 
by  which  he  hoped  to  win  over  the  mind  of  his  former 
pupil ;  and  he  himself,  after  a  week’s  stay  at  Canter¬ 
bury,  followed  the  messenger  who  was  to  announce  his 
present  to  the  prince.  He  passed  through  Eochester  in 
state,  entered  London  in  a  vast  procession  that  ad¬ 
vanced  three  miles  out  of  the  city  to  meet  him,  and 
took  up  his  quarters  at  Southwark,  in  the  palace  of 
the  aged  Bishop  of  Winchester,  Henry  of  Blois,  brother 
of  King  Stephen.  Here  he  received  orders  from  the 
young  king  to  proceed  no  further,  but  return  instantly 
to  Canterbury.  In  obedience  to  the  command,  but 
professedly  (and  this  is  a  characteristic  illustration  of 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  284,  285. 


74  PARTING  WITH  THE  ABBOT  OF  ST.  ALBANS.  [1170. 

much  that  follows)  from  a  desire  to  he  at  his  post  on 
Christmas  Day,  he  relinquished  his  design,  and  turned 
for  the  last  time  from  the  city  of  his  birth  to  the  city 
of  his  death. 

One  more  opening  of  reconciliation  occurred.  Be¬ 
fore  he  finally  left  the  vicinity  of  London  he  halted 
for  a  few  days  at  his  manor-house  at  Harrow,  probably 
to  make  inquiries  about  a  contumacious  priest  who  then 
occupied  the  vicarage  of  that  town.  He  sent  thence  to 
the  neighboring  abbey  of  St.  Albans  to  request  an  in¬ 
terview  with  the  Abbot  Simon.1  The  Abbot  came 
over  with  magnificent  presents  from  the  good  cheer  of 
his  abbey ;  and  the  Archbishop  was  deeply  affected  on 
seeing  him,  embraced  and  kissed  him  tenderly,  and 
urged  him,  pressing  the  Abbot’s  hand  to  his  heart 
under  his  cloak  and  quivering  with  emotion,  to  make 
a  last  attempt  on  the  mind  of  the  prince.  The  Abbot 
went  to  Woodstock,  but  returned  without  success. 
Becket,  heaving  a  deep  sigh  and  shaking  his  head 
significantly,  said,  “  Let  be,  —  let  be.  Is  it  not  so, 
is  it  not  so,  that  the  days  of  the  end  hasten  to  their 
completion  ?  ”  He  then  endeavored  to  console  his 
friend :  “  My  Lord  Abbot,  many  thanks  for  your  fruit¬ 
less  labor.  The  sick  man  is  sometimes  beyond  the 
reach  of  physicians,  but  he  will  soon  bear  his  own 
judgment.”  He  then  turned  to  the  clergy  around 
him,  and  said,  with  the  deep  feeling  of  an  injured 
primate,  “Look  you,  my  friends,  the  Abbot,  who  is 
bound  by  no  obligations  to  me,  has  done  more  for 
me  than  all  my  brother-bishops  and  suffragans ;  ”  al¬ 
luding  especially  to  the  charge  which  the  Abbot  had 

1  This  interview  is  given  at  length  in  Matthew  Paris,  who,  as  a 
monk  of  St.  Albans,  probably  derived  it  from  the  traditions  of  the 
Abbey.  (Hist.  Angl.,  124;  Yit.  Abbat.,  91.) 


1170.]  INSULTS  FROM  THE  BROCS  OF  SALTWOOD.  75 

left  with  the  cellarer  of  St.  Albans  to  supply  the 
Archbishop  with  everything  during  his  own  absence 
at  Woodstock.  At  last  the  day  of  parting  came.  The 
Abbot,  with  clasped  hands,  entreated  Becket  to  spend 
the  approaching  festival  of  Christmas  and  St.  Stephen’s 
Day  at  his  own  abbey  of  the  great  British  martyr. 
Becket,  moved  to  tears,  replied :  “  Oh,  how  gladly 
would  I  come,  hut  it  has  been  otherwise  ordered. 
Go  in  peace,  dear  brother,  go  in  peace  to  your  church, 
which  may  God  preserve !  but  I  go  to  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  my  not  going  with  you.  But  come  with 
me,  and  be  my  guest  and  comforter  in  my  many 
troubles.”  They  parted  on  the  high  ridge  of  the  hill 
of  Harrow,  to  meet  no  more. 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  the  Archbishop’s 
mind  was  filled  with  gloomy  forebodings.  The  first 
open  manifestations  of  hostility  proceeded  from  the 
family  of  the  Brocs  of  Saltwood.  Already  tidings 
had  reached  him  that  Randulf  de  Broc  had  seized  a 
vessel  laden  with  wine  from  the  king,  and  had  killed 
the  crew,  or  imprisoned  them  in  Pevensey  Castle.  This 
injury  was  promptly  repaired  at  the  bidding  of  the 
young  king,  to  whom  the  Archbishop  had  sent  a  com¬ 
plaint  through  the  Prior  of  Dover 1  and  the  friendly 
Abbot  of  St.  Albans.  But  the  enmity  of  the  Brocs 
was  not  so  easily  allayed.  Ho  sooner  had  the  Primate 
reached  Canterbury  than  he  was  met  by  a  series  of 
fresh  insults.  [Dec.  24.]  Randulf,  he  was  told,  was 
hunting  down  his  archiepiscopal  deer  with  his  own 
dogs  in  his  own  woods ;  and  Robert,  another  of  the 
same  family,  who  had  been  a  Cistercian  monk,  but 
had  since  taken  to  a  secular  life,  sent  out  his  nephew 
John  to  waylay  and  cut  off  the  tails  of  a  sumpter 


1  Fitzsteplien,  i.  286. 


76  SCENE  IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  [1170. 

mule  and  a  horse  of  the  Archbishop.  This  jest,  or 
outrage  (according  as  we  regard  it),  which  occurred 
on  Christmas  Eve,  took  deep  possession  of  Becket’s 
mind.1  On  Christmas  Day,  after  the  solemn  celebra¬ 
tion  of  the  usual  midnight  Mass,  he  entered  the  ca¬ 
thedral  for  the  services  of  that  great  festival.  Before 
the  performance  of  High  Mass  he  mounted  the  pulpit 
in  the  chapter-house,  and  preached  on  the  text,  “  On 
earth,  peace  to  men  of  good  will.”  It  was  the  reading 
(perhaps  the  true  reading)  of  the  Yulgate  version,  and 
had  once  before  afforded  him  the  opportunity  of  reject¬ 
ing  the  argument  on  his  return  that  he  ought  to  come 
in  peace.  “  There  is  no  peace,”  he  said,  “  but  to  men 
of  good  will.”  2  On  this  limitation  of  the  universal 
message  of  Christian  love  he  now  proceeded  to  dis¬ 
course.  He  began  by  speaking  of  the  sainted  fathers 
of  the  church  of  Canterbury,  the  presence  of  whose 
bones  made  doubly  hallowed  the  consecrated  ground. 
“One  martyr,”  he  said,  “they  had  already,”  —  Alfege, 
murdered  by  the  Danes,  whose  tomb  stood  on  the  north 
side  of  the  high  altar ;  “  it  was  possible,”  he  added,  “  that 
they  would  soon  have  another.”3  The  people  who 
thronged  the  nave  were  in  a  state  of  wild  excitement ; 
they  wept  and  groaned ;  and  an  audible  murmur  ran 
through  the  church,  “  Father,  why  do  you  desert  us  so 
soon  ?  To  whom  will  you  leave  us  ?  ”  But  as  he  went 
on  with  his  discourse,  the  plaintive  strain  gradually 
rose  into  a  tone  of  fiery  indignation.  “  You  would  have 
thought,”  says  Herbert  of  Bosham,  who  was  present, 
“that  you  were  looking  at  the  prophetic  beast,  which 
had  at  once  the  face  of  a  man  and  the  face  of  a  lion.” 
He  spoke,  —  the  fact  is  recorded  by  all  the  biographers 
without  any  sense  of  its  extreme  incongruity,  —  he 

1  Eitzstephen,  i.  287.  2  Ibid.,  283.  3  Ibid.,  292. 


1170.]  SCENE  IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  CHRISTMAS  DAY.  77 

spoke  of  the  insult  of  the  docked  tail 1  of  the  sumpter 
mule,  and,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,2  excommunicated 
Eandulf  and  Robert  de  Broc;  and  in  the  same  sen¬ 
tence  included  the  Yicar  of  Thirl  wood,  and  Nigel  of 
Sackville,  the  Yicar  of  Harrow,  for  occupying  those 
incumbrances  without  his  authority,  and  refusing  ac¬ 
cess  to  his  officials.3  He  also  publicly  denounced  and 
forbade  communication  with  the  three  bishops  who 
by  crowning  the  young  king  had  not  feared  to  en¬ 
croach  upon  the  prescriptive  rights  of  the  church  of 
Canterbury.  “  May  they  be  cursed,”  he  said,  in  con¬ 
clusion,  “  by  Jesus  Christ,  and  may  their  memory  be 
blotted  out  of  the  assembly  of  the  saints,  whoever  shall 
sow  hatred  and  discord  between  me  and  my  Lord  the 
King.”4  With  these  words  he  dashed  the  candle  on 
the  pavement,5  in  token  of  the  extinction  of  his  ene¬ 
mies  ;  and  as  he  descended  from  the  pulpit  to  pass  to 
the  altar  to  celebrate  Mass,  he  repeated  to  his  Welsh 
cross-bearer,  Alexander  Llewellyn,  the  prophetic  words, 
“  One  martyr,  Saint  Alfege,  you  have  already ;  another, 
if  God  will,  you  will  have  soon.”  6  The  service  in  the 
cathedral  was  followed  by  the  banquet  in  his  hall,  at 


1  According  to  the  popular  belief,  the  excommunication  of  the 
Broc  family  was  not  the  only  time  that  Becket  avenged  a  similar 
offence.  Lambard,  in  his  “  Perambulations  of  Kent,”  says  that  the 
people  of  Stroud,  near  Rochester,  insulted  Becket  as  he  rode  through 
the  town,  and,  like  the  Brocs,  cut  off  the  tails  of  his  horses.  Their 
descendants,  as  a  judgment  for  the  crime,  were  ever  after  born  with 
horses’  tails.  (See,  however,  the  previous  Lecture,  p.  61.)  A  curse 
lighted  also  on  the  blacksmiths  of  a  town  where  one  of  that  trade  had 
“  dogged  his  horse.”  (Fuller’s  Worthies.)  “Some  in  Spain  (to  my 
own  knowledge),  at  this  very  day,  believe  that  the  English,  especially 
the  Kentish  men,  are  horn  with  tails  for  curtailing  Becket’s  mule.” 
(Covel  on  the  Greek  Church,  Preface,  p.  xv.) 

2  Herbert,  i.  323;  Gamier,  63,  4.  3  Gamier,  71,  15. 

4  Fitzstephen,  i.  292.  5  Grim,  ed.  Giles,  i.  68. 

6  Fitzstephen,  i.  292. 


78 


LAST  ACTS  OF  BECKET. 


[i  1 70. 


which,  although  Christmas  Day  fell  this  year  on  a  Fri¬ 
day,  it  was  observed  that  he  ate  as  usual,  in  honor  of 
the  joyous  festival  of  the  Nativity.  On  the  next  day, 
Saturday,  the  Feast  of  Saint  Stephen,  and  on  Sunday, 
the  Feast  of  Saint  John,  he  again  celebrated  Mass  ;  and 
towards  the  close  of  the  day,  under  cover  of  the  dark, 
he  sent  away,  with  messages  to  the  King  of  France  and 
the  Archbishop  of  Sens,  his  faithful  servant  Herbert  of 
Bosham,  telling  him  that  he  would  see  him  no  more, 
but  that  he  was  anxious  not  to  expose  him  to  the  fur¬ 
ther  suspicions  of  Henry.  Herbert  departed  with  a 
heavy  heart,1  and  with  him  went  Alexander  Llewellyn, 
the  Welsh  cross-bearer.  The  Archbishop  sent  off  an¬ 
other  servant  to  the  Pope,  and  two  others  to  the  Bishop 
of  Norwich,  with  a  letter  relating  to  Hugh,  Earl  of 
Norfolk.  He  also  drew  up  a  deed  appointing  his  priest 
William  to  the  chapelry  of  Penshurst,  with  an  excom¬ 
munication  against  any  one  who  should  take  it  from 
him.2  These  are  his  last  recorded  public  acts.  On  the 
night  of  the  same  Sunday  he  received  a  warning  let¬ 
ter  from  France,  announcing  that  he  was  in  peril  from 
some  new  attack.3  What  this  was,  is  now  to  be  told. 

The  three  prelates  of  York,  London,  and  Salisbury, 
having  left  England  as  soon  as  they  heard  that  the 
Archbishop  was  immovable,  arrived  in  France  a  few 
days  before  Christmas,4  and  immediately  proceeded 
to  the  king,  who  was  then  at  the  Castle  of  Bur,  near 
Bayeux.5  It  was  a  place  already  famous  in  history 
as  the  scene  of  the  interview  between  William  and 

1  Herbert,  i.  324,  325. 

2  Fitzstephen,  i.  292,  293. 

3  Anon.  Passio  Tertia,  ed.  Giles,  ii.  156. 

4  Herbert,  i.  319. 

5  Gamier,  65  (who  gives  the  interview  in  great  detail) ;  Florence 
of  Worcester,  i.  153. 


1170.] 


FURY  OF  THE  KING. 


79 


Harold,  when  the  oath  which  led  to  the  conquest  of 
England  was  perfidiously  exacted  and  sworn.  All 
manner  of  rumors  about  Becket’s  proceedings  had 
reached  the  ears  of  Henry,  and  he  besought  the  ad¬ 
vice  of  the  three  prelates.  The  Archbishop  of  York 
answered  cautiously,  “  Ask  council  from  your  barons 
and  knights ;  it  is  not  for  us  to  say  what  must  be 
done.”  A  pause  ensued ;  and  then  it  was  added,  — 
whether  by  Roger  or  by  some  one  else  does  not  clearly 
appear,  —  “  As  long  as  Thomas  lives,  you  will  have 
neither  good  days,  nor  peaceful  kingdom,  nor  quiet 
life.”  1  The  words  goaded  the  king  into  one  of  those 
paroxysms  of  fury  to  which  all  the  earlier  Plantagenet 
princes  were  subject,  and  which  was  believed  by  them¬ 
selves  to  arise  from  a  mixture  of  demoniacal  blood  in 
their  race.  It  is  described  in  Henry’s  son  John  as 
“something  beyond  anger;  he  was  so  changed  in  his 
whole  body,  that  a  man  would  hardly  have  known 
him.  His  forehead  was  drawn  up  into  deep  furrows  ; 
his  flaming  eyes  glistened ;  a  livid  hue  took  the  place 
of  color.”  2  Henry  himself  is  said  at  these  moments 
to  have  become  like  a  wild  beast;  his  eyes,  naturally 
dove-like  and  quiet,  seemed  to  flash  lightning ;  his 
hands  struck  and  tore  whatever  came  in  their  way.  On 
one  occasion  he  flew  at  a  messenger  who  brought  him 
bad  tidings,  to  tear  out  his  eyes ;  at  another  time  he 
is  represented  as  having  flung  down  his  cap,  torn  off 
his  clothes,  thrown  the  silk  coverlet  from  his  bed,  and 
rolled  upon  it,  gnawing  the  straw  and  rushes.  Of  such 
a  kind  was  the  frenzy  which  struck  terror  through  all 
hearts  at  the  Council  of  Clarendon,  and  again  at  North¬ 
ampton,  when  with  tremendous  menaces,  sworn  upon 
his  usual  oath,  “the  eyes  of  God,”  he  insisted  on 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  390.  2  Richard  of  Devizes,  §  40. 


80 


THE  EOUR  KNIGHTS. 


[1170. 


Becket’s  appearance.1  Of  such  a  kind  was  the  frenzy 
which  he  showed  on  the  present  occasion.  “  A  fellow,” 
he  exclaimed,  “  that  has  eaten  my  bread  has  lifted  up 
his  heel  against  me  ;  a  fellow  that  I  loaded  with 
benefits  dares  insult  the  king  and  the  whole  royal 
family,  and  tramples  on  the  whole  kingdom  ;  a  fel¬ 
low  that  came  to  court  on  a  lame  horse,  with  a  cloak 
for  a  saddle,  sits  without  hindrance  on  the  throne 
itself !  What  sluggard  wretches,”  he  hurst  forth  again 
and  again,  “  what  cowards  have  I  brought  up  in  my 
court,  who  care  nothing  for  their  allegiance  to  their 
master!  Not  one  will  deliver  me  from  this  low-born 
priest !  ”  2  and  with  these  fatal  words  he  rushed  out  of 
the  room. 

There  were  present  among  the  courtiers  four  knights, 
whose  names  long  lived  in  the  memory  of  men,  and 
every  ingenuity  was  exercised  to  extract  from  them  an 
evil  augury  of  the  deed  which  has  made  them  famous, 
- —  Reginald  Fitzurse,  “  son  of  the  Bear,”  and  of  truly 
“bear-like”  character  (so  the  Canterbury  monks  repre¬ 
sented  it)  ;  Hugh  de  Moreville,  “  of  the  city  of  death  ” 
—  of  whom  a  dreadful  story  was  told  of  his  having 
ordered  a  young  Saxon  to  be  boiled  alive  on  the  false 
accusation  of  his  wife;  William  de  Tracy,  —  a  brave 
soldier,  it  was  said,  but  “  of  parricidal  wickedness ;  ” 
Richard  le  Brez,  or  le  Bret,  commonly  known  as  Brito, 
from  the  Latinized  version  of  his  name  in  the  (t  Chron¬ 
icles,”  —  more  fit,  they  say,  to  have  been  called  the 
“  Brute.”  3  They  are  all  described  as  on  familiar  terms 

1  Roger,  124,  104. 

2  Will.  Cant.,  ed.  Giles,  ii.  30;  Grim,  68;  Gervase,  1414. 

3  Will.  Cant.,  31.  This  play  on  the  word  will  appear  less  strange, 
when  we  remember  the  legendary  superstructure  built  on  the  identity 
of  the  Trojan  Brutus  with  the  primitive  Briton.  See  Lambard’s  Kent, 
p.  306.  Fitzurse  is  called  simply  “Reginald  Bure.” 


2170] 


THEIR  HISTORY. 


81 


with  the  king  himself,  and  sometimes,  in  official  lan¬ 
guage,  as  gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber.1  They  also 
appear  to  have  been  brought  together  by  old  associa¬ 
tions.  Fitzurse,  Moreville,  and  Tracy  had  all  sworn 
homage  to  Becket  while  Chancellor.  Fitzurse,  Tracy, 
and  Bret  had  all  connections  with  Somersetshire. 
Their  rank  and  lineage  can  even  now  be  accurately 
traced  through  the  medium  of  our  county  historians 
and  legal  records.  Moreville  was  of  higher  rank  and 
office  than  the  others.  He  was  this  very  year  Justice 
Itinerant  of  the  counties  of  Northumberland  and  Cum¬ 
berland,  where  he  inherited  the  barony  of  Burgh-on- 
the-Sands  and  other  possessions  from  his  father  Roger 
and  his  grandfather  Simon.  He  was  likewise  forester 
of  Cumberland,  owner  of  the  Castle  of  Knaresborough, 
and  added  to  his  paternal  property  that  of  his  wife, 
Helwise  de  Stute-ville.2  Tracy  was  the  younger  of 
two  brothers,  sons  of  John  de  Sudely  and  Grace  de 
Traci.  He  took  the  name  of  his  mother,  who  was 
daughter  of  William  de  Traci,  a  natural  son  of  Henry 
the  First.  On  his  father’s  side  he  was  descended  from 
the  Saxon  Ethelred.  He  was  born  at  Toddington,  in 
Gloucestershire,3  where,  as  well  as  in  Devonshire,4  he 
held  large  estates.  Fitzurse  was  the  descendant  of 
Urso,  or  Ours,  who  had,  under  the  Conqueror,  held 
Grittleston  in  Wiltshire,  of  the  Abbey  of  Glastonbury. 
His  father,  Richard  Fitzurse,  became  possessed,  in  the 
reign  of  Stephen,  of  the  manor  of  Willeton  in  Somer¬ 
setshire,  which  had  descended  to  Reginald  a  few  years 

1  Cubicularii. 

2  Foss’s  Judges  of  England,  i.  279. 

3  Rudder’s  Gloucestershire,  770  ;  Pedigree  of  the  Tracys,  in  Britton’s 
Toddington. 

4  Liber  Niger  Scaccarii,  115-221. 

6 


82 


THE  KNIGHTS  SET  OUT. 


[1170. 


before  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking.1  He  was 
also  a  tenant  in  chief  in  Northamptonshire,  in  tail  in 
Leicestershire.2  Richard  the  Breton  was,  it  would  ap¬ 
pear  from  an  incident  in  the  murder,  intimate  with 
Prince  William,  the  king’s  brother.3  He  and  his 
brother  Edmund  had  succeeded  to  their  father  Simon 
le  Bret,  who  had  probably  come  over  with  the  Con¬ 
queror  from  Brittany,  and  settled  in  Somersetshire, 
where  the  property  of  the  family  long  continued  in 
the  same  rich  vale  under  the  Quantock  Hills,  which 
contains  Willeton,  the  seat  of  the  Eitzurses.4  There 
is  some  reason  to  suppose  that  he  was  related  to  Gil¬ 
bert  Eoliot.5  If  so,  his  enmity  to  the  Archbishop  is 
easily  explained. 

It  is  not  clear  on  what  day  the  fatal  exclamation  of 
the  king  was  made.  Fitzstephen6  reports  it  as  taking 
place  Qn  Sunday,  the  27th  of  December.  Others,7  who 
ascribe  a  more  elaborate  character  to  the  whole  plot, 
date  it  a  few  days  before,  on  Thursday  the  24th,  — -  the 
whole  Court  taking  part  in  it,  and  Roger,  Archbishop  of 
York,  giving  full  instructions  to  the  knights  as  to  their 
future  course.  This  perhaps  arose  from  a  confusion  with 
the  Council  of  Barons  8  actually  held  after  the  departure 
of  the  knights,  of  which,  however,  the  chief  result  was 
to  send  three  courtiers  after  them  to  arrest  their  prog¬ 
ress.  This  second  mission  arrived  too  late.  The  four 
knights  left  Bur  on  the  night  of  the  king’  fury.  They 
then,  it  was  thought,  proceeded  by  different  roads  to  the 
French  coast,  and  crossed  the  Channel  on  the  following 

1  Collinson’s  Somersetshire,  iii.  487. 

2  Liber  Niger  Scaccarii,  216-288.  3  Fitzstephen,  i.  303. 

4  Collinson’s  Somersetshire,  iii.  514. 

6  See  Robertson’s  Becket,  266.  6  Fitzstephen,  i.  290. 

7  Gamier,  65,  17  ;  so  also  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1414. 

8  Robertson’s  Becket,  268. 


1170.]  THEY  ARRIVE  AT  ST.  AUGUSTINE’S  ABBEY.  83 

day.  Two  of  them  landed,  as  was  afterwards  noticed 
with  malicious  satisfaction,  at  the  port  of  “  Bogs  ”  near 
Dover,1  two  of  them  at  Winchelsea ; 2  and  all  four  ar¬ 
rived  at  the  same  hour3  at  the  fortress  of  Saltwood 
Castle,  the  property  of  the  See  of  Canterbury,  but  now 
occupied,  as  we  have  seen,  by  Becket’s  chief  enemy, — 
Dan  Randulf  of  Broc,  who  came  out  to  welcome  them.4 
Here  they  would  doubtless  be  told  of  the  excommu¬ 
nication  launched  against  their  host  on  Christmas 
Day.  In  the  darkness  of  the  night  —  the  long  win¬ 
ter  night  of  the  28th  of  December5 — it  was  believed 
that,  with  candles  extinguished,  and  not  even  seeing 
each  other’s  faces,  the  scheme  was  concerted.  Early 
in  the  morning  of  the  next  day  they  issued  orders  in 
the  king’s  name 6  for  a  troop  of  soldiers  to  be  levied 
from  the  neighborhood  to  march  with  them  to  Can- 
terbury.  They  themselves  mounted  their  chargers  and 
galloped  along  the  old  Roman  road  from  Lymne  to  Can¬ 
terbury,  which,  under  the  name  of  Stone  Street,  runs  in 
a  straight  line  of  nearly  fifteen  miles  from  Saltwood 
to  the  hills  immediately  above  the  city.  They  pro¬ 
ceeded  instantly  to  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey,  outside  the 
walls,  and  took  up  their  quarters  with  Clarembald,  the 
Abbot.7 

The  abbey  was  in  a  state  of  considerable  confusion  at 
the  time  of  their  arrival.  A  destructive  fire  had  ravaged 
the  buildings  two  years  before,8  and  the  reparations 
could  hardly  have  been  yet  completed.  Its  domestic 
state  was  still  more  disturbed.  It  was  now  nearly  ten 
years  since  a  feud  had  been  raging  between  the  in- 

1  Grim,  69 ;  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1414. 

2  Gamier,  66, 67.  3  Fitzstephen,  i.  290. 

4  Gamier,  66,  29.  5  Gamier,  66,  22. 

6  Grim,  69;  Roger,  i.  160;  Fitzstephen,  i.  293;  Gamier,  66,  6. 

7  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1414.  8  Thorn’s  Chronicle,  1817. 


84 


THE  FATAL  TUESDAY. 


[1170. 


mates  and  their  Abbot,  who  had  been  intruded  on  them 
in  1162,  as  Becket  bad  been  on  the  ecclesiastics  of 
the  cathedral,  —  but  with  the  ultimate  difference  that 
whilst  Becket  had  become  the  champion  of  the  clergy, 
Clarembald  had  stood  fast  by  the  king,  his  patron, 
which  perpetuated  the  quarrel  between  the  monks  and 
their  superior.  He  had  also  had  a  dispute  with  Becket 
about  his  right  of  benediction  in  the  abbey,  and  had 
been  employed  by  the  king  against  him  on  a  mission 
in  France.  He  would,  therefore,  naturally  be  eager  to 
receive  the  new-comers ;  and  with  him  they  concerted 
measures  for  their  future  movements.1  Having  sent 
orders  to  the  mayor,  or  provost,  of  Canterbury  to  issue 
a  proclamation  in  the  king’s  name,  forbidding  any  one 
to  offer  assistance  to  the  Archbishop,2  the  knights  once 
more  mounted  their  chargers,  and  accompanied  by  Bob- 
ert  of  Broc,  who  had  probably  attended  them  from 
Saltwood,  rode  under  the  long  line  of  wall  which  still 
separates  the  city  and  the  precincts  of  the  cathedral 
from  St.  Augustine’s  Monastery,  till  they  reached  the 
great  gateway  which  opened  into  the  court  of  the 
Archbishop’s  palace.3  They  were  followed  by  a  band 
of  about  a  dozen  armed  men,  whom  they  placed  in  the 
house  of  one  Gilbert,4  which  stood  hard  by  the  gate. 

It  was  Tuesday,  the  29th  of  December.  Tuesday, 
his  friends  remarked,  had  always  been  a  significant  day 
in  Becket’s  life.  On  a  Tuesday  he  was  born  and  bap¬ 
tized ;  on  a  Tuesday  he  had  fled  from  Northampton; 
on  a  Tuesday  he  had  left  England  on  his  exile ;  on  a 

1  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1414.  2  Gamier,  66,  10. 

3  The  Archbishop’s  palace  is  now  almost  entirely  destroyed,  and  its 
place  occupied  by  modern  houses.  But  an  ancient  gateway  on  the 
site  of  the  one  here  mentioned,  though  of  later  date,  still  leads  from 
Palace  Street  into  these  houses. 

4  Eitzstephen,  i.  297. 


1170.] 


THE  FATAL  TUESDAY. 


85 


Tuesday  he  had  received  warning  of  his  martyrdom  in 
a  vision  at  Pontigny ;  on  a  Tuesday  he  had  returned 
from  that  exile.  It  was  now  on  a  Tuesday  that  the  fa¬ 
tal  hour  came ; 1  and  (as  the  next  generation  observed) 
it  was  on  a  Tuesday  that  his  enemy  King  Henry  was 
buried,  on  a  Tuesday  that  the  martyr’s  relics  were 
translated ; 2  and  Tuesday  was  long  afterwards  re¬ 
garded  as  the  week-day  especially  consecrated  to  the 
saint  with  whose  fortunes  it  had  thus  been  so  strangely 
interwoven.3  Other  omens  were  remarked.  A  sol¬ 
dier  who  was  in  the  plot  whispered  to  one  of  the 
cellarmen  of  the  Priory  that  the  Archbishop  would  not 
see  the  evening  of  Tuesday.  Becket  only  smiled.  A 
citizen  of  Canterbury,  Reginald  by  name,  had  told  him 
that  there  were  several  in  England  who  were  bent  on 
his  death ;  to  which  he  answered,  with  tears,  that  he 
knew  he  should  not  be  killed  out  of  church.4  He 
himself  had  told  several  persons  in  France,  that  he 
was  convinced  he  should  not  outlive  the  year,5  and  in 
two  days  the  year  would  be  ended. 

Whether  these  evil  auguries  weighed  upon  his  mind, 
or  whether  his  attendants  afterwards  ascribed  to  his 
words  a  more  serious  meaning  than  they  really  bore, 
the  day  opened  with  gloomy  forebodings.  Before  the 
break  of  dawn  the  Archbishop  startled  the  clergy  of 
his  bedchamber  by  asking  whether  it  would  be  possi¬ 
ble  for  any  one  to  escape  to  Sandwich  before  daylight, 
and  on  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  added,  “  Let 

1  Robert  of  Gloucester,  Life  of  Becket,  285. 

2  Diceto  (Giles),  i.  377  ;  Matthew  Paris,  97.  It  was  the  fact  of  the 
29th  of  December  falling  on  a  Tuesday  that  fixes  the  date  of  his  death 
to  1170,  not  1171.  (Gervase,  1418.) 

3  See  the  deed  quoted  in  “  Journal  of  the  British  Archaeological  As- 
sociation,”  April,  1854. 

4  Grandison,  c.  5.  See  p.  81.  6  Benedict.  71. 


86 


THE  KNIGHTS  ENTER  THE  PALACE. 


[1170. 


any  one  escape  who  wishes.”  That  morning  he  attended 
Mass  in  the  cathedral ;  then  passed  a  long  time  in  the 
chapter-house,  confessing  to  two  of  the  monks,  and  re¬ 
ceiving,  as  seems  to  have  been  his  custom,  three  scourg- 
ings.1  Then  came  the  usual  banquet  in  the  great  hall 
of  the  palace  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  He  was  ob¬ 
served  to  drink  more  than  usual ;  aud  his  cup-bearer, 
in  a  whisper,  reminded  him  of  it.2  He  who  has 
much  blood  to  shed,”  answered  Becket,  “  must  drink 
much.”  3 

The  dinner  4  was  now  over ;  the  concluding  hymn  or 
“  grace  ”  was  finished,5  and  Becket  had  retired  to  his 
private  room,6  where  he  sat  on  his  bed,7  talking  to  his 
friends ;  whilst  the  servants,  according  to  the  practice 
which  is  still  preserved  in  our  old  collegiate  establish¬ 
ments,  remained  in  the  hall  making  their  meal  of  the 
broken  meat  which  was  left.8  The  floor  of  the  hall  was 
strewn  with  fresh  hay  and  straw,9  to  accommodate  with 
clean  places  those  who  could  not  find  room  on  the 
benches;  10  and  the  crowd  of  beggars  and  poor,11  who 
daily  received  their  food  from  the  Archbishop,  had 
gone 12  into  the  outer  yard,  and  were  lingering  before 
their  final  dispersion.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  the 
four  knights  dismounted  in  the  court  before  the  hall.13 
The  doors  were  all  open,  and  they  passed  through  the 

1  Gamier,  70,  25. 

2  Anon.  Lambeth,  ed.  Giles,  ii.  121  ;  Roger,  169;  Gamier,  77,  2. 

3  Grandison,  c.  5.  See  p.  61. 

4  Ibid. 

5  For  the  account  of  bis  dinners,  see  Herbert,  63,  64,  70,  71. 

6  Grim,  70  ;  Benedict,  ii.  55. 

7  Roger,  163.  8  Gamier,  20,  10. 

9  Eitzstephen,  i.  189.  This  was  in  winter.  In  summer  it  would  have 

been  fresh  rushes  and  green  leaves. 

1(3  Grim,  70  ;  Fitzstephen,  i.  294.  11  Gamier,  66,  17. 

12  Fitzstephen,  i.  310.  13  Gervase,  1415. 


1170.] 


APPEARANCE  OF  BECKET. 


87 


crowd  without  opposition.  Either  to  avert  suspicion  or 
from  deference  to  the  feeling  of  the  time,  which  forbade 
the  entrance  of  armed  men  into  the  peaceful  precincts 
of  the  cathedral,1  they  left  their  weapons  behind,  and 
their  coats  of  mail  were  concealed  by  the  usual  cloak 
and  gown,2  the  dress  of  ordinary  life.  One  attendant, 
Badulf,  an  archer,  followed  them.  They  were  generally 
known  as  courtiers ;  and  the  servants  invited  them  to 
partake  of  the  remains  of  the  feast.  They  declined, 
and  were  pressing  on,  when,  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase 
leading  from  the  hall  to  the  Archbishop’s  room,  they 
were  met  by  William  Fitz-Nigel,  the  seneschal,  who 
had  just  parted  from  the  Primate  with  a  permission  to 
leave  his  service  and  join  the  king  in  France.  When 
he  saw  the  knights,  whom  he  immediately  recognized, 
he  ran  forward  and  gave  them  the  usual  kiss  of  saluta¬ 
tion,  and  at  their  request  ushered  them  to  the  room 
where  Becket  sat.  “  My  Lord,”  he  said,  “  here  are  four 
knights  from  King  Henry,  wishing  to  speak  to  you.”  3 
“  Let  them  come  in,”  said  Becket.  It  must  have  been 
a  solemn  moment,  even  for  those  rough  men,  when  they 
first  found  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  Arch¬ 
bishop.  Three  of  them  —  Hugh  de  Moreville,  Begi- 
nald  Fitzurse,  and  William  de  Tracy  —  had  known  him 
long  before  in  the  days  of  his  splendor  as  Chancellor 
and  favorite  of  the  king.  He  was  still  in  the  vigor 
of  strength,  though  in  his  fifty-third  year :  his  counte¬ 
nance,  if  we  may  judge  of  it  from  the  accounts  at  the 
close  of  the  day,  still  retained  its  majestic  and  striking 
aspect ;  his  eyes  were  large  and  piercing,  and  always 

1  Grim,  70  ;  Roger,  161. 

2  Gamier,  66,  25;  67,  10;  Roger,  161  ;  Grim,  70.  See  the  Arch* 
bishop’s  permission  in  page  54. 

3  Gamier,  67,  15. 


88  THE  KNIGHTS’  INTERVIEW  WITH  BECKET.  [1170. 


glancing  to  and  fro ; 1  and  his  tall 2  figure,  though  really 
spare  and  thin,  had  a  portly  look  from  the  number  of 
wrappings  which  he  bore  beneath  his  oi  dinary  clothes. 
Round  about  him  sat  or  lay  on  the  floor  the  clergy  of 
his  household,  —  amongst  them,  his  faithful  counsellor, 
John  of  Salisbury ;  William  Eitzstephen,  his  chaplain ; 
and  Edward  Grim,  a  Saxon  monk  of  Cambridge,3  who 
had  arrived  hut  a  few  days  before  on  a  visit. 

When  the  four  knights  appeared,  Becket,  without 
looking  at  them,  pointedly  continued  his  conversation 
with  the  monk  who  sat  next  him,  and  on  whose  shoul¬ 
der  he  was  leaning.4  They,  on  their  part,  entered  with¬ 
out  a  word,  beyond  a  greeting  exchanged  in  a  whisper 
to  the  attendant  who  stood  near  the  door,5  and  then 
marched  straight  to  where  the  Archbishop  sat,  and 
placed  themselves  on  the  floor  at  his  feet,  among  the 
clergy  who  were  reclining  around.  Radulf,  the  archer, 
sat  behind  them 6  on  the  boards.  Becket  now  turned 
round  for  the  first  time,  and  gazed  steadfastly  on  each 
in  silence,7  which  he  at  last  broke  by  saluting  Tracy 
by  name.  The  conspirators  continued  to  look  minutely 
at  one  another,  till  Eitzurse,8  who  throughout  took  the 
lead,  replied,  with  a  scornful  expression,  “God  help 
you !  ”  Becket’s  face  grew  crimson,9  and  he  glanced 
round  at  their  countenances,10  which  seemed  to  gather 
fire  from  Fitzurse’s  speech.  Eitzurse  again  broke  forth: 
“We  have  a  message  from  the  king  over  the  water; 
tell  us  whether  you  will  hear  it  in  private,  or  in  the 
hearing  of  all.”  11  “  As  you  wish,”  said  the  Archbishop. 

1  Herbert,  i.  63.  2  Fitzstephen,  i.  185. 

3  Herbert,  i.  337.  4  Gamier,  67,  20,  26. 

5  Benedict,  55.  6  Roger,  161 ;  Gamier,  67. 

7  Roger,  161.  8  Roger,  161. 

9  Grim,  70;  Gamier,  67,  18.  10  Roger,  161. 

11  Grim,  70  ;  Roger,  161  ;  Gamier,  67,  10-15. 


1170.]  THE  KNIGHTS’  INTERVIEW  WITH  BECKET.  89 


“  Nay,  as  you  wish,”  said  Fitzurse.1  “  Nay,  as  you  wish,” 
said  Becket.  The  monks,  at  the  Archbishop’s  intima¬ 
tion,  withdrew  into  an  adjoining  room ;  but  the  door¬ 
keeper  ran  up  and  kept  the  door  ajar,  that  they  might 
see  from  the  outside  what  was  going  on.2  Fitzurse 
had  hardly  begun  his  message,  when  Becket,  suddenly 
struck  with  a  consciousness  of  his  danger,  exclaimed, 
“  This  must  not  be  told  in  secret,”  and  ordered  the 
doorkeeper  to  recall  the  monks.3  For  a  few  seconds  the 
knights  were  left  alone  with  Becket ;  and  the  thought 
occurred  to  them,  as  they  afterwards  confessed,  of  kill¬ 
ing  him  with  the  cross-staff  which  lay  at  his  feet, — the 
only  weapon  within  their  reach.4  The  monks  hurried 
back ;  and  Fitzurse,  apparently  calmed  by  their  presence, 
resumed  his  statement  of  the  complaints  of  the  king. 
These  complaints,5  which  are  given  by  various  chroni¬ 
clers  in  very  different  words,  were  three  in  number. 
“  The  king  over  the  water  commands  you  to  perform 
your  duty  to  the  king  on  this  side  the  water,  instead 
of  taking  away  his  crown.”  “  Bather  than  take  away 
his  crown,”  replied  Becket,  “  I  would  give  him  three  or 
four  crowns.” 6  “You  have  excited  disturbances  in  the 
kingdom,  and  the  king  requires  you  to  answer  for  them 
at  his  court.”  “  Never,”  said  the  Archbishop,  “  shall 

1  Roger,  161 ;  Gamier,  67,  19. 

2  Roger,  161 ;  Benedict,  55. 

3  Roger,  162  ;  Benedict,  56;  Gamier,  67,  20. 

4  Grim,  71 ;  Roger,  165  ;  Gamier,  67,  25.  It  was  probably  Tracy’s 
thought,  as  his  was  the  confession  generally  known. 

5  In  this  dialogue  I  have  not  attempted  to  give  more  than  the 
words  of  the  leading  questions  and  answers,  in  which  most  of  the 
chroniclers  are  agreed.  Where  the  speeches  are  recorded  with  great 
varieties  of  expression,  it  is  impossible  to  distinguish  accurately  be¬ 
tween  what  was  really  spoken  and  wrhat  was  afterwards  written  as 
likely  to  have  been  spoken. 

6  Benedict,  56 ;  Gamier,  68. 


90  THE  KNIGHTS’  INTERVIEW  WITH  BECKET.  [1170. 


the  sea  again  come  between  me  and  my  church,  unless 
I  am  dragged  thence  by  the  feet.”  “  You  have  excom¬ 
municated  the  bishops,  and  you  must  absolve  them.” 
“  It  was  not  I,”  replied  Becket,  “but  the  Pope,  and  you 
must  go  to  him  for  absolution.”  He  then  appealed,  in 
language  which  is  variously  reported,  to  the  promises 
of  the  king  at  their  interview  in  the  preceding  July. 
Eitzurse  burst  forth  :  “  What  is  it  you  say  ?  You  charge 
the  king  with  treachery.”  “  Reginald,  Reginald,”  said 
Becket,  “  I  do  no  such  thing ;  but  I  appeal  to  the  arch¬ 
bishops,  bishops,  and  great  people,  five  hundred  and 
more,  who  heard  it ;  and  you  were  present  yourself,  Sir 
Reginald.”  “  I  was  not,”  said  Reginald ;  “  I  never  saw 
nor  heard  anything  of  the  kind/’  “  You  were,”  said 
Becket;  “I  saw  you.”1  The  knights,  irritated  by  con¬ 
tradiction,  swore  again  and  again,  “  by  God’s  wounds,” 
that  they  had  borne  with  him  long  enough.2  John  of 
Salisbury,  the  prudent  counsellor  of  the  Archbishop, 
who  perceived  that  matters  were  advancing  to  extremi¬ 
ties,  whispered,  “  My  Lord,  speak  privately  to  them 
about  this.”  “  No,”  said  Becket ;  “  they  make  proposals 
and  demands  which  I  cannot  and  ought  not  to  admit.”  3 
He,  in  his  turn,  complained  of  the  insults  he  had 
received.  First  came  the  grand  grievances  _of  the  pre¬ 
ceding  week.  “  They  have  attacked  my  servants ;  they 
have  cut  off  my  sumpter-mule’s  tail ;  they  have  carried 
off  the  casks  of  wine  that  were  the  king’s  own  gift.”  4 
It  was  now  that  Hugh  de  Moreville,  the  gentlest  of  the 
four,5  put  in  a  milder  answer :  “  Why  did  you  not 

1  He  was  remarkable  for  the  tenacity  of  his  memory,  never  forget¬ 
ting  what  he  had  heard  or  learned.  (Gervase’s  Chronicle.) 

2  Benedict,  59;  Gamier,  68,  16. 

3  Fitzstephen,  i.  295. 

4  Roger,  163;  Benedict,  61 ;  Gervase,  1415  ;  Gamier,  68,  26. 

B  Benedict,  62. 


1170.]  THE  KNIGHTS’  INTERVIEW  WITH  BECKET.  91 

complain  to  the  king  of  these  outrages  ?  Why  do  you 
take  upon  yourself  to  punish  them  by  your  own  au¬ 
thority  ?  ”  The  Archbishop  turned  round  sharply  upon 
him :  “  Hugh,  how  proudly  you  lift  up  your  head  ! 
When  the  rights  of  the  Church  are  violated,  I  shall 
wait  for  no  man’s  permission  to  avenge  them.  I  will 
give  to  the  king  the  things  that  are  the  king’s,  but  to 
God  the  things  that  are  God’s.  It  is  my  business,  and  I 
alone  will  see  to  it.”1  For  the  first  time  in  the  inter¬ 
view,  the  Archbishop  had  assumed  an  attitude  of  de¬ 
fiance  ;  the  fury  of  the  knights  broke  at  once  through 
the  bonds  which  had  partially  restrained  it,  and  dis¬ 
played  itself  openly  in  those  impassioned  gestures  which 
are  now  confined  to  the  half-civilized  nations  of  the 
south  and  east,  but  which  seem  to  have  been  natural 
to  all  classes  of  mediaeval  Europe.  Their  eyes  flashed 
fire ;  they  sprang  upon  their  feet,  and  rushing  close  up 
to  him  gnashed  their  teeth,  twisted  their  long  gloves, 
and  wildly  threw  their  arms  above  their  heads.  Fitzurse 
exclaimed :  “  You  threaten  us,  you  threaten  us ; 2  are 
you  going  to  excommunicate  us  all  ?  ”  One  of  the 
others  added :  “  As  I  hope  for  God’s  mercy,  he  shall  not 
do  that ;  he  has  excommunicated  too  many  already.” 
The  Archbishop  also  sprang  from  his  couch,  in  a  state 
of  strong  excitement.  “You  threaten  me,”  he  said,  “  in 
•vain  ;  were  all  the  swords  in  England  hanging  over 
my  head,  you  could  not  terrify  me  from  my  obedience 
to  God,  and  my  Lord  the  Pope.3  Foot  to  foot  shall  you 
find  me  in  the  battle  of  the  Lord.4  Once  I  gave  way. 
I  returned  to  my  obedience  to  the  Pope,  and  will  never- 

1  Roger,  163,  164. 

2  Eitzstephen,  i.  296.  “  Minae,  minae,”  —  a  common  expression,  as  it 
would  seem.  Compare  Benedict,  71. 

3  Roger,  163;  Benedict,  61  ;  Gervase,  1415. 


4  Benedict,  61. 


92  THE  KNIGHTS’  INTERVIEW  WITH  BECKET.  [1170. 

more  desert  it.  And,  besides,  you  know  what  there  is 
between  yon  and  me  ;  I  wonder  the  more  that  you 
should  thus  threaten  the  Archbishop  in  his  own  house.” 
He  alluded  to  the  fealty  sworn  to  him  while  Chancellor 
by  Moreville,  Fitzurse,  and  Tracy,  which  touched  the 
tenderest  nerve  of  the  feudal  character.  “  There  is 
nothing,”  they  rejoined,  with  an  anger  which  they 
doubtless  felt  to  be  just  and  loyal,  —  “  there  is  nothing 
between  you  and  us  which  can  be  against  the  king.”  1 

Roused  by  the  sudden  burst  of  passion  on  both  sides, 
many  of  the  servants  and  clergy,  with  a  few  soldiers  of 
the  household,  hastened  into  the  room,  and  ranged 
themselves  round  the  Archbishop.  Fitzurse  turned 
to  them  and  said,  “  You  who  are  on  the  king’s  side,  and 
bound  to  him  by  your  allegiance,  stand  off!”  They 
remained  motionless,  and  Fitzurse  called  to  them  a 
second  time,  “  Guard  him  ;  prevent  him  from  escaping !  ” 
The  Archbishop  said,  “I  shall  not  escape.”  On  this 
the  knights  caught  hold  of  their  old  acquaintance, 
William  Fitz-Nigel,  who  had  entered  with  the  rest,  and 
hurried  him  with  them,  saying,  “  Come  with  us.”  He 
called  out  to  Becket,  “  You  see  what  they  are  doing 
with  me.”  “  I  see,”  replied  Becket ;  “  this  is  their  hour, 
and  the  power  of  darkness.”2  As  they  stood  at  the 
door,  they  exclaimed,3  “  It  is  you  who  threaten ;  ”  and 
in  a  deep  undertone  they  added  some  menace,  and  en-» 
joined  on  the  servants  obedience  to  their  orders.  With 
the  quickness  of  hearing  for  which  he  was  remarkable, 
he  caught  the  words  of  their  defiance,  and  darted  after 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  296 ;  Grim,  72  ;  Anon.  Passio  Quinta,  174. 

2  Fitzstephen,  i.  296. 

3  Gamier,  68,  15.  For  the  general  fact  of  the  acuteness  of  his 

senses,  both  hearing  and  smell,  see  Roger,  95.  “  Vix  aliquid  in  ejus 

presentia  licet  longiuscule  et  submisse  dici  posset,  quod  non  audiret  si 
aurem  apponere  voluisset.” 


1170.]  THE  KNIGHTS’  INTERVIEW  WITH  BECKET.  93 

them  to  the  door,  entreating  them  to  release  Fitz- 
Nigel ; 1  then  he  implored  Moreville,  as  more  courteous 
than  the  others,  to  return 2  and  repeat  their  message ; 
and  lastly,  in  despair  and  indignation,  he  struck  his 
neck  repeatedly  with  his  hand,  and  said,  “  Here,  here 
you  will  find  me.”  3 

The  knights,  deaf  to  his  solicitations,  kept  their 
course,  seizing  as  they  went  another  soldier,  Kadulf 
Morin,  and  passed  through  the  hall  and  court,  crying, 
“To  arms  !  to  arms  ! ”  A  few  of  their  companions  had 
already  taken  post  within  the  great  gateway,  to  prevent 
the  gate  being  shut ;  the  rest,  at  the  shout,  poured  in 
from  the  house  where  they  were  stationed  hard  by, 
with  the  watchword,  “  King’s  men !  King’s  men !  ” 
( Beaux !  Reaux  /)  The  gate  was  instantly  closed, 
to  cut  off  communication  with  the  town ;  the  Arch¬ 
bishop’s  porter  was  removed,  and  in  front  of  the 
wicket,  which  was  left  open,  William  Fitz-Nigel,  who 
seems  suddenly  to  have  turned  against  his  master,  and 
Simon  of  Croil,  a  soldier  attached  to  the  household  of 
Clare mbald,  kept  guard  on  horseback.4  The  knights 
threw  off  their  cloaks  and  gowns  under  a  large  syca¬ 
more  in  the  garden,5  appeared  in  their  armor,  and  girt 
on  their  swords.6  Fitzurse  armed  himself  in  the  porch,7 
with  the  assistance  of  Robert  Tibia,  trencherman  of  the 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  296.  2  Benedict,  62  ;  Gamier,  69. 

3  Grim,  73  ;  Roger,  163 ;  Gamier,  69,  5  (though  he  places  this  speech 

earlier). 

4  Fitzstephen,  i.  298.  5  Gervase,  Acta  Pont.,  1672. 

6  Gamier,  70,  11. 

7  Fitzstephen,  i.  298.  The  porch  of  the  hall,  built,  doubtless  on  the 
plan  of  the  one  here  mentioned,  by  Archbishop  Langton  about  fifty 
years  later,  still  in  part  remains,  incorporated  in  one  of  the  modem 

houses  now  occupying  the  site  of  the  Palace.  There  is  a  similar  porch 
in  a  more  complete  state,  the  only  fragment  of  a  similar  hall,  adjoin¬ 
ing  the  palace  at  Norwich. 


94  THE  KNIGHTS’  INTERVIEW  WITH  BECKET.  [1170. 

Archbishop.  Osbert  and  Algar,  two  of  the  servants, 
seeing  their  approach,  shut  and  barred  the  door  of  the 
hall,  and  the  knights  in  vain  endeavored  to  force  it 
open.1  But  Robert  of  Broc,  who  had  known  the  pah 
ace  during  the  time  of  its  occupation  by  his  uncle  Ran- 
dolf,2  called  out,  “  Follow  me,  good  sirs,  I  will  show 
you  another  way !  ”  and  got  into  the  orchard  behind 
the  kitchen.  There  was  a  staircase  leading  thence  to 
the  antechamber  between  the  hall  and  the  Archbish¬ 
op’s  bedroom.  The  wooden  steps  were  under  repair, 
and  the  carpenters  had  gone  to  their  dinner,  leaving 
their  tools  on  the  stairs.3  Fitzurse  seized  an  axe,  and 
the  others  hatchets ;  and  thus  armed  they  mounted 
the  staircase  to  the  antechamber,4  broke  through  an 
oriel-window  which  looked  out  on  the  garden,5  entered 
the  hall  from  the  inside,  attacked  and  wounded  the 
servants  who  were  guarding  it,  and  opened  the  door 
to  the  assailants.6  The  Archbishop’s  room  was  still 
barred  and  inaccessible. 

Meanwhile  Becket,  who  resumed  his  calmness  as 
soon  as  the  knights  had  retired,  reseated  himself  on  his 
couch,  and  John  of  Salisbury  again  urged  moderate 
counsels,7  in  words  which  show  that  the  estimate  of 
the  Archbishop  in  his  lifetime  justifies  the  impression 
of  his  vehement  and  unreasonable  temper  which  has 
prevailed  in  later  times,  though  entirely  lost  during 
the  centuries  which  elapsed  between  his  death  and 
the  Reformation.  “It  is  wonderful,  my  Lord,  that 
you  never  take  any  one’s  advice;  it  always  has  been, 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  297,  298. 

2  Fitzstephen,  i.  298 ;  Roger,  165;  Gamier,  70. 

3  Roger,  165;  Benedict,  63. 

4  Grim,  73;  Fitzstephen,  i.  298  ;  Gamier,  70,  1. 

5  Gamier,  70,  2.  6  Benedict,  63. 

7  Fitzstephen,  i.  298 ;  Benedict,  62. 


1170.]  THEIR  ASSAULT  ON  THE  PALACE. 


95 


and  always  is  your  custom,  to  do  and  say  what  seems 
good  to  yourself  alone.”  “What  would  you  have  me 
do,  Dan  John  ?  ”  1  said  Becket.  “  You  ought  to  have 
taken  counsel  with  your  friends,  knowing  as  you  do 
that  these  men  only  seek  occasion  to  kill  you.”  “  I 
am  prepared  to  die,”  said  Becket.  “We  are  sinners,” 
said  John,  “  and  not  yet  prepared  for  death  ;  and  I  see 
no  one  who  wishes  to  die  without  cause  except  you.”2 
The  Archbishop  answered,  “  Let  God’s  will  he  done.”  3 
“Would  to  God  it  might  end  well!”  sighed  John,  in 
despair.4  The  dialogue  was  interrupted  by  one  of  the 
monks  rushing  in  to  announce  that  the  knights  were 
arming.  “  Let  them  arm,”  said  Becket.  But  in  a  few 
minutes  the  violent  assault  on  the  door  of  the  hall, 
and  the  crash  of  a  wooden  partition  in  the  passage 
from  the  orchard,  announced  that  the  danger  was  close 
at  hand.  The  monks,  with  that  extraordinary  timidity 
which  they  always  seem  to  have  displayed,  instantly 
fled,  leaving  only  a  small  body  of  his  intimate  friends 
or  faithful  attendants.5  They  united  in  entreating  him 
to  take  refuge  in  the  cathedral.  “  No,”  he  said  :  “  fear 
not ;  all  monks  are  cowards.”  6  On  this  some  sprang 
upon  him,  and  endeavored  to  drag  him  there  by  main 
force ;  others  urged  that  it  was  now  five  o’clock,  that 
vespers  were  beginning,  and  that  his  duty  called  him 
to  attend  the  service.  Partly  forced,  partly  persuaded 
by  the  argument,7  partly  feeling  that  his  doom  called 

1  Roger,  164 ;  Garnier,  69,  25. 

2  Gamier,  70,  10. 

3  Roger,  164  ;  Benedict,  62;  Garnier,  70,  10. 

4  Benedict,  62.  6  Garnier,  70,  16. 

6  Roger,  165;  Eitzstephen,  i.  298. 

7  Eitzstephen,  i.  299.  He  had  dreamed  or  anticipated  that  he  should 
be  killed  in  church,  and  had  communicated  his  apprehensions  to  the 
abbots  of  Pontigny  and  Yal-Luisant  (Benedict,  65),  and,  as  we  have 
seen,  to  a  citizen  of  Canterbury  on  the  eve  of  this  day. 


96 


MIRACLE  OF  THE  LOCK. 


[1170. 


him  thither,  he  rose  and  moved ;  hut  seeing  that  his 
cross-staff  was  not  as  usual  borne  before  him,  he 
stopped  and  called  for  it.1  He  remembered,  perhaps, 
the  memorable  day  at  the  Council  of  Northampton, 
when  he  had  himself  borne  the  cross2  through  the 
royal  hall  to  the  dismay  and  fury  of  his  opponents.  His 
ordinary  cross-bearer,  Alexander  Llewellyn,  had,  as  we 
have  seen,  left  him  for  France3  two  days  before,  and 
the  cross-staff  was  therefore  borne  by  one  of  his  clerks, 
Henry  of  Auxerre.4  They  first  attempted  to  pass  along 
the  usual  passage  to  the  cathedral,  through  the  orchard, 
to  the  western  front  of  the  church.  But  both  court 
and  orchard  being  by  this  time  thronged  with  armed 
men,5  they  turned  through  a  room  which  conducted  to 
a  private  door 6  that  was  rarely  used,  and  which  led 
from  the  palace  to  the  cloisters  of  the  monastery.  One 
of  the  monks  ran  before  to  force  it,  for  the  key  was  lost. 
Suddenly  the  door  flew  open  as  if  of  itself ; 7  and  in  the 
confusion  of  the  moment,  when  none  had  leisure  or 
inclination  to  ask  how  so  opportune  a  deliverance  oc¬ 
curred,  it  was  natural  for  the  story  to  arise  which  is 
related,  with  one  exception,8  in  all  the  narratives  of  the 
period,  —  that  the  holt  came  off  as  though  it  had  merely 

1  Eitzstephen,  i.  296;  Benedict,  64.  2  Herbert,  i.  143. 

3  Herbert,  i.  330.  4  Fitzstephen,  i.  299. 

5  Roger,  165.  6  Gamier,  71. 

7  Grim,  73  ;  Roger,  166  ;  Gamier,  17,  9. 

8  Benedict,  64.  It  is  curious  that  a  similar  miracle  was  thought  to 
have  occurred  on  his  leaving  the  royal  castle  at  Northampton.  He 
found  the  gate  locked  and  barred.  One  of  his  servants  caught  sight 
of  a  bundle  of  keys  hanging  aloft,  seized  it,  and  with  wonderful  quick¬ 
ness  ( quod  quasi  miraculum  quibusdam  visum  est ),  picked  out  the  right 
key  from  the  tangled  mass,  and  opened  the  door.  (Roger,  142.)  The 
cellarman  Richard  was  the  one  who  had  received  intimation  of  the 
danger  (as  mentioned  in  page  85),  and  who  would  therefore  be  on 
the  watch.  See  Willis’s  Conventual  Buildings  of  Christ  Church, 

p.  116. 


ML  AM 

of 

CANTERBURY  CATHEDRAL 9 

AT  THE  TIME  OFBECKETS  MURDER 

Chiefly  front,  the  Work  of  Pt  ‘ofessor.  Jfitlis. 

( The  pardon,  of  the  Cathedral,  in  lighter  tint 
is  the  conjectural  -restoration,  of  Aan/rancs  Church.) 


A  The  Mv*. 

BZaAy  Chapel- 

C  Chapel  of  St  Benedict  mth  Sf Blaise  dhow 
B.Chapel  of  St  Michaels. 

JC.Cktm 
F.Prcsb/tcn/. 
fi:  Chapel,  of  .Si Anselm-. 

HChapd  of# Andrew 
JiTiitiity  Chapel  mil  the  Crypt  underneath 

!/ High  Alton 
2.  Attar  ofSlAlfagc.. 

5.  Altar  of  Sfjhuistaiu 
•iPatrutrcfial  Chair* 

5.  Attar  of  SUolav  Baptist,  fin,  the  Crypt  ) 
C.Aka/'AfJl^uyustuuL  fim  the  Crypt) 

1  Boar  of  the  Cloisters. 

2. Boor’, of  the  Cathedral* 

3.  Staircase  to  die  roof. 

4,  Staircase  to  the  Crypt 
5. Staircase  to  the  Choir . 

C.  Pillar  -Where  He  Archbishop  stood/. 

7J5 'pot  Where  he  fell 
8.  Spot  where  the  tody  lay  during  the  ru 
9  Spot  where,  the  body  was  buried/  indie  C 
■  —  The  course  of  the  Archbishop 
— - Thu  course  of  the  Knight*, 


Archbishops  Palace.^ 


-xje: 


1170]  SCENE  IN  THE  CATHEDRAL.  97 

been  fastened  on  by  glue,  and  left  their  passage  free. 
This  one  exception  is  the  account  by  Benedict,  then  a 
monk  of  the  monastery,  and  afterwards  Abbot  of  Peter¬ 
borough;  and  his  version,  compared  with  that  of  all 
the  other  historians,  is  an  instructive  commentary  on 
a  thousand  fables  of  a  similar  kind.  Two  cellarmen, 
he  says,  of  the  monastery,  Richard  and  William,  whose 
lodgings  were  in  that  part  of  the  building,  hearing  the 
tumult  and  clash  of  arms,  flew  to  the  cloister,  drew 
back  the  bolt  from  the  other  side,  and  opened  the  door 
to  the  party  from  the  palace.  Benedict  knew  nothing 
of  the  seeming  miracle,  as  his  brethren  were  ignorant 
of  the  timely  interference  of  the  cellarmen.  But  both 
miracle  and  explanation  would  at  the  moment  be  alike 
disregarded.  Every  monk  in  that  terrified  band  had 
but  a  single  thought,  —  to  reach  the  church  with  their 
master  in  safety.  The  whole  march  was  a  struggle  be¬ 
tween  the  obstinate  attempt  of  the  Primate  to  preserve 
his  dignity,  and  the  frantic  eagerness  of  his  attendants 
to  gain  the  sanctuary.  As  they  urged  him  forward,  he 
colored  and  paused,  and  repeatedly  asked  them  what 
they  feared.  The  instant  they  had  passed  through  the 
door  which  led  to  the  cloister,  the  subordinates  flew  to 
bar  it  behind  them,  which  he  as  peremptorily  forbade.1 
For  a  few  steps  he  walked  firmly  on,  with  the  cross¬ 
bearer  and  the  monks  before  him ;  halting  once  and 
looking  over  his  right  shoulder,  either  to  see  whether 
the  gate  was  locked,  or  else  if  his  enemies  were  pur¬ 
suing.  Then  the  same  ecclesiastic  who  had  hastened 
forward  to  break  open  the  door  called  out,  “  Seize  him, 
and  carry  him !  ”  2  Vehemently  he  resisted,  but  in  vain. 
Some  pulled  him  from  before,  others  pushed  from  be 
hind.3  Half  carried,  half  drawn,  he  was  borne  along 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  292.  2  Roger,  166.  3  Gamier,  71,  27. 

7 


98 


SCENE  IN  THE  CATHEDRAL. 


[1170. 


the  northern  and  eastern  cloister,  crying  out,  “  Let  me 
go  ;  do  not  drag  me  !  ”  Thrice  they  were  delayed,  even 
in  that  short  passage;  for  thrice  he  broke  loose  from 
them, —  twice  in  the  cloister  itself,  and  once  in  the 
chapter-house,  which  opened  out  of  its  eastern  side.1 
At  last*  they  reached  the  door  of  the  lower  north  tran¬ 
sept  of  the  cathedral,  and  here  was  presented  a  new 
scene. 

The  vespers  had  already  begun,  and  the  monks  were 
singing  the  service  in  the  choir,  when  two  hoys  rushed 
up  the  nave,  announcing,  more  by  their  terrified  ges¬ 
tures  than  by  their  words,  that  the  soldiers  were  burst¬ 
ing  into  the  palace  and  the  monastery.2  Instantly  the 
service  was  thrown  into  the  utmost  confusion ;  part 
remained  at  prayer,  part  fled  into  the  numerous  hid¬ 
ing-places  which  the  vast  fabric  affords,  and  part  went 
down  the  steps  of  the  choir  into  the  transept  to  meet 
the  little  band  at  the  door.3  “  Come  in,  come  in !  ” 
exclaimed  one  of  them ;  “  come  in,  and  let  us  die  tor 
gether  !  ”  The  Archbishop  continued  to  stand  outside, 
and  said,  “  Go  and  finish  the  service.  So  long  as  you 
keep  in  the  entrance,  I  shall  not  come  in.”  They  fell 
back  a  few  paces,  and  he  stepped  within  the  door; 
but  finding  the  whole  place  thronged  with  people,  he 
paused  on  the  threshold  and  asked,  “  What  is  it  that 
these  people  fear  ?  ”  One  general  answer  broke  forth, 
“  The  armed  men  in  the  cloister.”  As  he  turned  and 
said,  “  I  shall  go  out  to  them,”  he  heard  the  clash  of 
arms  behind.4  The  knights  had  just  forced  their  way 

1  Roger,  166.  It  is  from  this  mention  of  the  chapter-house,  which 
occupied  the  same  relative  position  as  the  present  one,  that  we  ascer¬ 
tain  the  sides  of  the  cloister  by  which  Becket  came. 

2  Will.  Cant.,  32. 

3  Fitzstephen,  i.  294. 

4  Benedict,  64 ;  Herbert,  330. 


1170.] 


ENTRANCE  OF  THE  KNIGHTS. 


99 


into  the  cloister,  and  were  now  (as  would  appear  from 
their  being  thus  seen  through  the  open  door)  advanc¬ 
ing  along  its  southern  side.  They  were  in  mail,  which 
covered  their  faces  up  to  their  eyes,  and  carried  their 
swords  drawn.1  With  them  was  Hugh  of  Horsea,  sur- 
named  Mauclerc,  a  subdeacon,  chaplain  of  Eobert  de 
Broc.2  Three  had  hatchets.3  Fitzurse,  with  the  axe 
he  had  taken  from  the  carpenters,  was  foremost,  shout¬ 
ing  as  he  came,  “  Here,  here,  king’s  men !  ”  Immedi¬ 
ately  behind  him  followed  Eobert  Fitzranulph,4  with 
three  other  knights,  whose  names  are  not  preserved ; 
and  a  motley  group  —  some  their  own  followers,  some 
from  the  town  —  with  weapons,  though  not  in  armor, 
brought  up  the  rear.5  At  this  sight,  so  unwonted  in 
the  peaceful  cloisters  of  Canterbury,  not  probably  be¬ 
held  since  the  time  when  the  monastery  had  been 
sacked  by  the  Danes,  the  monks  within,  regardless  of 
all  remonstrances,  shut  the  door  of  the  cathedral,  and 
proceeded  to  barricade  it  with  iron  bars.6  A  loud 
knocking  was  heard  from  the  terrified  band  without, 
who,  having  vainly  endeavored  to  prevent  the  entrance 
of  the  knights  into  the  cloister,  now  rushed  before 
them  to  take  refuge  in  the  church.7  Becket,  who  had 
stepped  some  paces  into  the  cathedral,  but  was  resist¬ 
ing  the  solicitations  of  those  immediately  about  him 
to  move  up  into  the  choir  for  safety,  darted  back,  call¬ 
ing  aloud  as  he  went,  “  Away,  you  cowards  !  By  virtue 
of  your  obedience  I  command  you  not  to  shut  the  door ; 
the  church  must  not  be  turned  into  a  castle.”  8  With 

1  Gamier,  71,  10.  2  Gervase,  Acta  Pont.,  1672. 

3  Gamier,  71,  12.  4  Foss’s  Judges,  i.  243. 

5  Fitzstephen,  i.  300.  6  Herbert,  331  ;  Benedict,  65. 

7  Anon.  Lambeth,  121.  Herbert  (331)  describes  the  knocking,  but 
mistakingly  supposes  it  to  be  the  knights. 

8  Gamier,  71,  24.  This  speech  occurs  in  all. 


100  ENTRANCE  OF  THE  KNIGHTS.  [1170. 

his  own  hands  he  thrust  them  away  from  the  door, 
opened  it  himself,  and  catching  hold  of  the  excluded 
monks,  dragged  them  into  the  building,  exclaiming, 
“Come  in,  come  in,  —  faster,  faster!”1 

At  this  moment  the  ecclesiastics  who  had  hitherto 
clung  round  him  fled  in  every  direction,  —  some  to  the 
altars  in  the  numerous  side  chapels,  some  to  the  secret 
chambers  with  which  the  walls  and  roof  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  are  filled.  One  of  them  has  had  the  rashness  to 
leave  on  record  his  own  excessive  terror.2  Even  John 
of  Salisbury,  his  tried  and  faithful  counsellor,  escaped 
with  the  rest  Three  only  remained,  —  Eobert,  Canon 
of  Merton,  his  old  instructor ;  William  Fitzstephen  (if 
we  may  believe  his  own  account),  his  lively  and 
worldly-minded  chaplain  ;  and  Edward  Grim,  the  Saxon 
monk.3  William,  one  of  the  monks  of  Canterbury, 
who  has  recorded  his  impressions  of  the  scene,  con¬ 
fesses  that  he  fled  with  the  rest.  He  was  not  ready 
to  confront  martyrdom,  and  with  clasped  hands  ran  as 
fast  as  he  could  up  the  steps.4  Two  hiding-places  had 
been  specially  pointed  out  to  the  Archbishop.  One 
was  the  venerable  crypt  of  the  church,  with  its  many 
dark  recesses  and  chapels,  to  which  a  door  then  as  now 
opened  immediately  from  the  spot  where  he  stood ;  the 
other  was  the  Chapel  of  St.  Blaise  in  the  roof,  itself 
communicating  by  a  gallery  with  the  triforium  of  the 
cathedral,  to  which  there  was  a  ready  access  through 
a  staircase  cut  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  at  the  cor¬ 
ner  of  the  transept.5  But  he  positively  refused.  One 
last  resource  remained  to  the  stanch  companions  who 

1  Benedict,  65. 

2  William  of  Canterbury  (in  the  Winchester  MS.). 

3  Fitzstephen,  i.  301. 

4  Will.  Cant.,  published  in  “  Archeeologia  Cantiana,”  vi.  42. 

5  Fitzstephen,  i.  301, 


1170.]  TRANSEPT  OF  “THE  MARTYRDOM.”  101 

stood  by  him.  They  urged  him  to  ascend  to  the  choir, 
and  hurried  him,  still  resisting,  up  one  of  the  two  flights 
of  steps  which  led  thither.1  They  no  doubt  considered 
that  the  greater  sacredness  of  that  portion  of  the  church 
would  form  their  best  protection.  Becket  seems  to  have 
given  way,  as  in  leaving  the  palace,  from  the  thought 
flashing  across  his  mind  that  he  would  die  at  his  post. 
He  would  go  (such  at  least  was  the  impression  left  on 
their  minds)  to  the  high  altar,  and  perish  in  the  Patri¬ 
archal  Chair,  in  which  he  and  all  his  predecessors  from 
time  immemorial  had  been  enthroned.2  But  this  was 
not  to  be. 

What  has  taken  long  to  describe  must  have  been  com¬ 
pressed  in  action  within  a  few  minutes.  The  knights, 
who  had  been  checked  for  a  moment  by  the  sight  of 
the  closed  door,  on  seeing  it  unexpectedly  thrown  open, 
rushed  into  the  church.  It  was,  we  must  remember, 
about  five  o’clock  in  a  winter  evening ; 3  the  shades  of 
night  were  gathering,  and  were  deepened  into  a  still 
darker  gloom  within  the  high  and  massive  walls  of 
the  vast  cathedral,  which  was  only  illuminated  here 
and  there  by  the  solitary  lamps  burning  before  the 
altars.  The  twilight,4  lengthening  from  the  shortest 
day  a  fortnight  before,  was  but  just  sufficient  to  reveal 
the  outline  of  objects.  The  transept5  in  which  the 
knights  found  themselves  is  the  same  as  that  which, 

1  Roger,  166. 

2  Anon.  Lambeth,  121  ;  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1443. 

3  “Nox  longissima  instabat.”  — Fitzstephen,  i.  301. 

4  The  29th  of  December  of  that  year  corresponded  (by  the  change 
of  style)  to  our  4th  of  January. 

5  Gamier,  74,  11:  — 

“  Pur  l’iglise  del  nort  e  en  l’ele  del  nort, 

Envers  le  nort  suffri  li  bons  sainz  Thomas  mort.” 

For  the  ancient  arrangements  of  “  the  martyrdom,”  see  Willis’s  Ac- 


102  TRANSEPT  OF  “THE  MARTYRDOM.”  [1170. 

though  with  considerable  changes  in  its  arrangements, 
is  still  known  by  its  ancient  name  of  “  The  Martyrdom.” 
Two  staircases  led  from  it,  —  one  from  the  east  to  the 
northern  aisle,  one  on  the  west  to  the  entrance  of  the 
choir.  At  its  southwest  corner,  where  it  joined  the  nave, 
was  the  little  chapel  and  altar  of  the  Virgin,  the  especial 
patroness  of  the  Archbishop.  Its  eastern  apse  was 
formed  by  two  chapels,  raised  one  above  the  other ;  the 
upper  in  the  roof,  containing  the  relics  of  Saint  Blaise, 
the  first  martyr  whose  bones  had  been  brought  into  the 
church  and  which  gave  to  the  chapel  a  peculiar  sanctity ; 
the  lower  containing1  the  altar  of  St.  Benedict,  under 
whose  rule  from  the  time  of  Dunstan  the  monastery  had 
been  placed.  Before  and  around  this  altar  were  the  tombs 
of  four  Saxon  and  two  Norman  Archbishops.  In  the 
centre  of  the  transept  was  a  pillar,  supporting  a  gallery 
leading  to  the  Chapel  of  St.  Blaise,2  and  hung  at  great 
festivals  with  curtains  and  draperies.  Such  was  the 
outward  aspect,  and  such  the  associations,  of  the  scene 
which  now,  perhaps,  opened  for  the  first  time  on  the  four 
soldiers.  But  the  darkness,  coupled  with  the  eagerness 
to  find  their  victim,  would  have  prevented  them  from 
noticing  anything  more  than  its  prominent  features. 

count  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  pp.  18,  40,  71,  96.  The  chief  changes 
since  that  time  are  :  — 

(1)  The  removal  of  the  Lady  Chapel  in  the  Nave. 

(2)  The  removal  of  the  central  pillar. 

(3)  The  enlargement  of  the  Chapel  of  St.  Benedict. 

(4)  The  removal  of  the  Chapel  of  St.  Blaise. 

(5)  The  removal  of  the  eastern  staircase. 

In  the  last  two  points  a  parallel  to  the  old  arrangement  may  still 
he  found  in  the  southern  transept. 

1  It  may  be  mentioned,  as  an  instance  of  Hume’s  well-known  in¬ 
accuracy.  that  he  represents  Becket  as  taking  refuge  “  in  the  church 
of  St.  Benedict,”  evidently  thinking,  if  he  thought  at  all,  that  it  was 
a  parish  church  dedicated  to  that  saint. 

2  Gamier,  72-79,  6;  Willis’s  Canterbury  Cathedral,  p.  47. 


1170.]  MEETING  OF  KNIGHTS  AND  ARCHBISHOP.  103 

At  the  moment  of  their  entrance  the  central  pillar 
exactly  intercepted  their  view  of  the  Archbishop  as¬ 
cending  (as  would  appear  from  this  circumstance)  the 
eastern  staircase.1  Fitzurse,  with  his  drawn  sword 
in  one  hand,  and  the  carpenter’s  axe  in  the  other, 
sprang  in  first,  and  turned  at  once  to  the  right  of  the 
pillar.  The  other  three  went  round  it  to  the  left.  In 
the  dim  twilight  they  could  just  discern  a  group  of  fig¬ 
ures  mounting  the  steps.2  One  of  the  knights  called 
out  to  them,  “  Stay !  ”  Another,  “  Where  is  Thomas 
Becket,  traitor  to  the  king  ?  ”  No  answer  was  returned. 
None  could  have  been  expected  by  any  who  remem¬ 
bered  the  indignant  silence  with  which  Becket  had 
swept  by  when  the  same  word  had  been  applied  by 
Bandulf  de  Broc,  at  Northampton.3  Fitzurse  rushed 
forward,  and  stumbling  against  one  of  the  monks  on 
the  lower  step,4  still  not  able  to  distinguish  clearly  in 
the  darkness,  exclaimed,  “  Where  is  the  Archbishop  ?  ” 
Instantly  the  answer  came  :  “Reginald,  here  I  am, —  no 
traitor,  but  the  Archbishop  and  Priest  of  God ;  what 
do  you  wish?”5  and  from  the  fourth  step,6  which  he 
had  reached  in  his  ascent,  with  a  slight  motion  of  his 
head,  —  noticed  apparently  as  his  peculiar  manner  in 
moments  of  excitement,7  —  Becket  descended  to  the 
transept.  Attired,  we  are  told,  in  his  white  rochet,8 
with  a  cloak  and  hood  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  he  thus 
suddenly  confronted  his  assailants.  Fitzurse  sprang 
back  two  or  three  paces,  and  Becket  passing  9  by  him 

1  Gamier,  72,  10.  2  Gamier,  72,  11. 

3  Roger,  142.  4  Gamier,  72,  14. 

6  Gervase,  Acta  Pont.,  1672;  Gamier,  72,  15. 

e  Gervase,  Acta  Pont.,  1673. 

7  As  in  his  interview  with  the  Abbot  of  St.  Albans  at  Harrow.  See 
p.  74. 

3  Grandison,  c.  9.  9  Grim,  75;  Roger,  166. 


104 


THE  STRUGGLE. 


[1170. 


took  up  his  station  between  the  central  pillar 1  and  the 
massive  wall  which  still  forms  the  southwest  corner  of 
what  was  then  the  Chapel  of  St.  Benedict.2  Here  they 
gathered  round  him,  with  the  cry,  “  Absolve  the  bishops 
whom  you  have  excommunicated.”  “  I  cannot  do  other 
than  I  have  done,”  he  replied;  and  turning3  to  Fitzurse, 
he  added,  “  Beginald,  you  have  received  many  favors  at 
my  hands ;  why  do  you  come  into  my  church  armed  ?  ” 
Fitzurse  planted  the  axe  against  his  breast,  and  returned 
for  answer,  “  You  shall  die;  I  will  tear  out  your  heart.”  4 
Another,  perhaps  in  kindness,  striking  him  between  the 
shoulders  with  the  flat  of  his  sword,  exclaimed,  “  Fly ; 
you  are  a  dead  man.” 5  “I  am  ready  to  die,”  replied 
the  Primate,  “  for  God  and  the  Church ;  but  I  warn  you, 
I  curse  you  in  the  name  of  God  Almighty,  if  you  do  not 
let  my  men  escape.”6 

The  well-known  horror  which  in  that  age  was  felt  at 
an  act  of  sacrilege,  together  with  the  sight  of  the  crowds 
who  were 7  rushing  in  from  the  town  through  the  nave, 
turned  their  efforts  for  the  next  few  moments  to  carry 
him  out  of  the  church.8  Fitzurse  threw  down  the 
axe,9  and  tried  to  drag  him  out  by  the  collar  of  his  long 
cloak,10  calling,  “  Come  with  us;  you  are  our  prisoner.” 
“  I  will  not  fly,  you  detestable  fellow  !”  11  was  Becket’s 
reply,  roused  to  his  usual  vehemence,  and  wrenching 

1  Roger,  166. 

2  Willis’s  Canterbury  Cathedral,  p.  41.  It  was  afterwards  preserved 
purposely. 

3  Gamier,  72,  20. 

4  Grim,  79;  Anon.  Passio  Quinta,  176. 

5  Grim,  75,  76  ;  Roger,  166. 

6  Herbert,  338;  Gamier,  72,  25;  Fitzstephen,  i.  302;  Grim,  76; 

Roger,  166.  7  Anon.  Lamb.,  122;  Fitzstephen,  i.  302. 

8  Grim,  76  ;  Roger,  166. 

9  Fitzstephen,  i.  302  ;  Benedict,  88.  10  Gamier,  72,  20,  30. 

11  “  Vir  abominabilis.” —  Geryase,  Acta  Pont.,  1673. 


THE  STRUGGLE. 


105 


x  170.] 

the  cloak  out  of  Fitzurse’s  grasp.1  The  three  knights, 
to  whom  was  now  added  Hugh  Mauclerc,  chaplain  of 
Eobert  de  Broc,2  struggled  violently  to  put  him  on 
Tracy’s  shoulders.3  Becket  set  his  back  against  the 
pillar,4  and  resisted  with  all  his  might ;  whilst  Grim,5 
vehemently  remonstrating,  threw  his  arms  around  him 
to  aid  his  efforts.  In  the  scuffle  Becket  fastened  upon 
Tracy,  shook  him  by  his  coat  of  mail,  and  exerting  his 
great  strength,  flung  him  down  on  the  pavement.6  It 
was  hopeless  to  carry  on  the  attempt  to  remove  him; 
and  in  the  final  struggle  which  now  began,  Fitzurse, 
as  before,  took  the  lead.  But  as  he  approached  with 
his  drawn  sword,  the  sight  of  him  kindled  afresh  the 
Archbishop’s  anger,  now  heated  by  the  fray  ;  the  spirit 
of  the  chancellor  rose  within  him,  and  with  a  coarse 7 
epithet,  not  calculated  to  turn  away  his  adversary’s 
wrath,  he  exclaimed,  “  You  profligate  wretch,  you  are 
my  man,  —  you  have  done  me  fealty,  —  you  ought  not 
to  touch  me!”8  Fitzurse,  glowing  all  over  with  rage, 


1  Gamier,  73,  21. 

2  Roger,  166;  Gamier,  71. 

8  Roger,  166. 

4  Gamier,  72,  73,  5;  Grim,  75. 

5  Fitzstepben,  i.  302  ;  Gamier,  73,  6. 

6  Benedict,  66;  Roger,  166;  Gervase,  Acta  Pont.,  1173;  Herbert, 
331  ;  Gamier,  72,  30.  All  but  Herbert  and  Gamier  believe  this  to 
have  been  Fitzurse  ;  but  the  reference  of  Herbert  to  Tracy’s  confession 
is  decisive. 

7  “Lenonein  appellans.” — Roger,  167  ;  Grim,  66.  It  is  this  part 
of  the  narrative  that  was  so  ingeniously,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  not 
altogether  without  justice,  selected  as  the  ground  of  the  official  account 
of  Becket’s  death,  published  by  King  Henry  VIII.,  and  representing 
him  as  having  fallen  in  a  scuffle  with  the  knights,  in  which  he  and  they 
were  equally  aggressors.  The  violence  of  Becket’s  language  was  well 
known.  His  usual  name  for  Geoffrey  Riddell,  Archdeacon  of  Canter¬ 
bury,  was  Archdevil.  Anselm,  the  king’s  brother,  he  called  a  “cata¬ 
mite  and  bastard.” 

8  Grim,  66. 


106 


THE  MURDER. 


[1170. 


retorted,  “  I  owe  you  no  fealty  or  homage,  contrary  to 
my  fealty  to  the  king ;  ”  1  and  waving  the  sword  over 
his  head  cried,  “  Strike,  strike  ! ”  ( Ferez ,  ferez  !)  but 
merely  dashed  off  his  cap.  The  Archbishop  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  joined  hands,  bent  his  neck,  and  said,2 
“  I  commend  my  cause  and  the  cause  of  the  Church  to 
God,  to  Saint  Denys  the  martyr  of  France,  to  Saint 
Alfege,  and  to  the  saints  of  the  Church.”  Meanwhile 
Tracy,  who  since  his  fall  had  thrown  off  his  hauberk  3 
to  move  more  easily,  sprang  forward,  and  struck  a  more 
decided  blow.  Grim,  who  up  to  this  moment  had  his 
arm  round  Becket,  threw  it  up,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  to 
intercept  the  blade,  Becket  exclaiming,  “  Spare  this  de¬ 
fence  !  ”  The  sword  lighted  on  the  arm  of  the  monk, 
which  fell  wounded  or  broken ; 4  and  he  fled  disabled  to 
the  nearest  altar,5  probably  that  of  St.  Benedict  within 
the  chapel.  It  is  a  proof  of  the  confusion  of  the  scene, 
that  Grim,  the  receiver  of  the  blow,  as  well  as  most  of  the 

1  Grim,  66;  Roger,  167 ;  Gamier,  73,  11. 

2  Gamier,  73,  25.  These  are  in  several  of  the  accounts  made  his 
last  words  (Roger,  167  ;  Alan,  336,  and  Addit.  to  John  of  Salisbury, 
376) ;  but  this  is  doubtless  the  moment  when  they  were  spoken. 

3  Gamier,  73,  1. 

4  Gamier,  73,  18.  The  words  in  which  this  act  is  described  in 
almost  all  the  chronicles  have  given  rise  to  a  curious  mistake  :  “  Bra- 
chium  Edwardi  Grim  fere  abscidit.”  By  running  together  these  two 
words,  later  writers  have  produced  the  name  of  “  Grimfere.”  Many 
similar  confusions  will  occur  to  classical  scholars.  In  most  of  the 
mediaeval  pictures  of  the  murder,  Grim  is  represented  as  the  cross- 
bearer,  which  is  an  error.  Grandison  alone  speaks  of  Grim  “  cum 
cruce The  acting  cross-bearer,  Henry  of  Auxerre,  had  doubtless 
fled.  Another  error  respecting  Grim  has  been  propagated  in  much 
later  times  by  Thierry,  who,  for  the  sake  of  supporting  his  theory 
that  Becket’s  cause  was  that  of  the  Saxons  against  the  Normans, 
represents  him  as  remonstrating  against  the  Primate’s  acquiescence  in 
the  Constitutions  of  Clarendon.  The  real  cross-bearer,  who  so  remon¬ 
strated  (Alan  of  Tewkesbury,  i.  340),  was  not  a  Saxon,  but  a  Welsh¬ 
man  (see  Robertson,  335). 

5  Will.  Cant.,  32. 


1170.] 


THE  MURDER. 


107 


narrators,  believed  it  to  have  been  dealt  by  Fitzurse, 
while  Tracy,  who  is  known  to  have  been 1  the  man  from 
his  subsequent  boast,  believed  that  the  monk  whom  he 
had  wounded  was  John  of  Salisbury.  The  spent  force  of 
the  stroke  descended  on  Becket’s  head,  grazed  the  crown, 
and  finally  rested  on  his  left  shoulder,2  cutting  through 
the  clothes  and  skin.  The  next  blow,  whether  struck 
by  Tracy  or  Fitzurse,  was  only  with  the  flat  of  the 
sword,  and  again  on  the  bleeding  head,3  which  Becket 
drew  back  as  if  stunned,  and  then  raised  his  clasped 
hands  above  it.  The  blood  from  the  first  blow  was 
trickling  down  his  face  in  a  thin  streak  ;  he  wiped  it 
with  his  arm,  and  when  he  saw  the  stain,  he  said,  “  Into 
thy  hands,  O  Lord,  I  commend  my  spirit.”  At  the 
third  blow,  which  was  also  from  Tracy,  he  sank  on  his 
knees,  —  his  arms  falling,  but  his  hands  still  joined  as 
if  in  prayer.  With  his  face  turned  towards  the  altar 
of  St.  Benedict,  he  murmured  in  a  low  voice,  —  which 
might  just  have  been  caught  by  the  wounded  Grim,4 
who  was  crouching  close  by,  and  who  alone  reports  the 
words,  —  “For  the  name  of  Jesus,  and  the  defence  of 
the  Church,  I  am  willing  to  die.”  Without  moving 
hand  or  foot,5  he  fell  flat  on  his  face  as  he  spoke,  in 
front  of  the  corner  wall  of  the  chapel,  and  with  such 
dignity  that  his  mantle,  which  extended  from  head  to 
foot,  was  not  disarranged.  In  this  posture  he  received 
from  Bichard  the  Breton  a  tremendous  blow,  accom¬ 
panied  with  the  exclamation  (in  allusion  to  a  quarrel 
of  Becket  with  Prince  William),  “  Take  this  for  love  of 
my  Lord  William,  brother  of  the  king  !  ”  6  The  stroke 

1  Will.  Cant.,  33;  Fitzstephen,  i.  302;  Gamier,  73,  17. 

2  Gamier  73,  8.  3  Will.  Cant.,  32  ;  Grim,  66. 

4  Grim,  66.  3  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  2466. 

6  Fitzstephen,  i.  303. 


108 


THE  MURDER. 


[1170. 


was  aimed  witli  such  violence  that  the  scalp  or  crown 
of  the  head  1  —  which,  it  was  remarked,  was  of  unusual 
size — was  severed  from  the  skull,  and  the  sword 
snapped  in  two  on  the  marble  pavement.2  The  fracture 
of  the  murderous  weapon  was  reported  by  one  of  the 
eyewitnesses  as  a  presage  of  the  ultimate  discomfiture 
of  the  Archbishop’s  enemies.3  Hugh  of  Horsea,  the 

1  Grim,  77 ;  Roger,  167  ;  Passio  Quinta,  177.  Great  stress  was 
laid  on  this,  as  having  been  the  part  of  his  head  which  had  received 
the  sacred  oil.  (John  of  Salisbury,  376.)  There  was  a  dream,  by 
which  he  was  said  to  have  been  troubled  at  Pontigny,  - —  curious,  as  in 
some  respects  so  singularly  unlike,  in  others  so  singularly  like,  his 
actual  fate.  He  was  at  Rome,  pleading  his  cause  before  the  Pope  and 
cardinals ;  the  adverse  cardinals  rushed  at  him  with  a  shout  that 
drowned  the  remonstrances  of  the  Pope,  and  tried  to  pluck  out  his  eyes 
with  their  fingers,  then  vanished,  and  were  succeeded  by  a  band  of 
savage  men,  who  struck  off  his  scalp,  so  that  it  fell  over  his  forehead. 
(Grim,  58.) 

2  Benedict,  66.  Eor  the  pavement  being  marble,  see  Benedict,  66, 
and  Gamier,  79,  19.  Baronius  (vol.  xix.  p.  379)  calls  it  “lapideum 
pavimentum.”  A  spot  is  still  shown  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  with  a 
square  piece  of  stone  said  to  have  been  inserted  in  the  stone  pavement 
in  the  place  of  a  portion  taken  out  and  sent  to  Rome.  That  the  spot 
so  marked  is  precisely  the  place  where  Becket  fell,  is  proved  by  its 
exact  accordance  with  the  localities  so  minutely  described  in  the  several 
narratives.  But  whether  the  flagstones  now  remaining  are  really  the 
same,  must  remain  in  doubt.  The  piece  said  to  have  been  sent  to 
Rome,  I  ascertained,  after  diligent  inquiry,  to  be  no  longer  in  existence ; 
and  Mr.  Robertson  has  clearly  pointed  out  that  the  passage  quoted,  in 
earlier  editions  of  this  work,  from  Baronius  (vol.  xix.  p.  371)  in  proof 
of  the  story,  has  no  bearing  upon  it ;  and  also  that  the  tradition  re¬ 
specting  it  at  Canterbury  cannot  be  traced  beyond  the  beginning  of 
this  century.  Another  story  states  that  Benedict,  when  appointed 
Abbot  of  Peterborough  in  1177,  being  vexed  at  finding  that  his  pre¬ 
decessor  had  pawned  or  sold  the  relics  of  the  abbey,  returned  to  Can¬ 
terbury,  and  carried  off,  amongst  other  memorials  of  Saint  Thomas, 
the  stones  of  the  pavement  which  had  been  sprinkled  with  his  blood, 
and  had  two  altars  made  from  them  for  Peterborough  Cathedral.  Still, 
as  the  whole  floor  must  have  been  flooded,  he  may  have  removed  only 
those  adjacent  to  the  flagstone  from  which  the  piece  was  taken,  —  a  sup¬ 
position  with  which  the  present  appearance  of  the  flagstone  remark¬ 
ably  corresponds. 

3  Will.  Cant.  (Arch.  Cant.,  vi.  42). 


■ 


#  _ 


1170.] 


THE  MURDER. 


109 


subdeacon  who  had  joined  them  as  they  entered  the 
church,1  taunted  by  the  others  with  having  taken  no 
share  in  the  deed,  planted  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  the 
corpse,  thrust  his  sword  into  the  ghastly  wound,  and 
scattered  the  brains  over  the  pavement.  “  Let  us  go, 
let  us  go/’  he  said,  in  conclusion.  “  The  traitor  is  dead ; 
he  will  rise  no  more.”  2 

This  was  the  final  act.  One  only  of  the  four  knights 
had  struck  no  blow.  Hugh  de  Moreville  throughout 
retained  the  gentler  disposition  for  which  he  was  dis¬ 
tinguished,  and  contented  himself  with  holding  back 
at  the  entrance  of  the  transept  the  crowds  who  were 
pouring  in  through  the  nave.3 

The  murderers  rushed  out  of  the  church,  through 
the  cloisters,  into  the  palace.  Tracy,  in  a  confession 
made  long  afterwards  to  Bartholomew,  Bishop  of  Exeter 
said  that  their  spirits,  which  had  before  been  raised  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  excitement,  gave  way  when  the 
deed  was  perpetrated,  and  that  they  retired  with  trem¬ 
bling  steps,  expecting  the  earth  to  open  and  swallow 
them  up.4  Such,  however,  was  not  their  outward  de¬ 
meanor,  as  it  was  recollected  by  the  monks  of  the  place. 
With  a  savage  burst  of  triumph  they  ran,  shouting,  as 
if  in  battle,  the  watchword  of  the  kings  of  England,5 
“  The  king’s  men,  the  king’s  men !  ”  wounding,  as 
they  went,  a  servant  of  the  Archdeacon  of  Sens  for 
lamenting  the  murdered  prelate.6  Robert  de  Broc,  as 

1  Benedict  (66)  ascribes  this  to  Brito;  the  anonymous  Passio 
Quinta  (177)  to  Fitzurse ;  Herbert  (345)  and  Grandison  (iv.  1)  to 
Robert  de  Broc;  the  rest  to  Mauclerc. 

2  Fitzstephen,  i.  303 ;  Roger,  268 ;  Benedict,  67 ;  Gamier,  74,  25. 

3  Roger,  108  ;  Grim,  77 ;  Gamier,  74,  11. 

4  Herbert,  351 ;  Grandison,  c.  9. 

5  Gamier,  74,  1 ;  Grim,  79  ;  Roger,  168  ;  Fitzstephen,  i.  305. 

6  Fitzstephen,  i.  305.  See  Ducange  in  voce;  Robertson,  p.  282. 


110 


PLUNDER  OF  THE  PALACE. 


[1170. 


knowing  the  palace,  had  gone  before  to  take  possession 
of  the  private  apartments.  There  they  broke  open  the 
bags  and  coffers,  and  seized  many  papal  bulls,  charters,1 
and  other  documents,  which  Randulf  de  Broc  sent 
to  the  king.  They  then  traversed  the  whole  of  the 
palace,  plundering  gold  and  silver  vases,2  the  magnifi¬ 
cent  vestments  and  utensils  employed  in  the  services 
of  the  church,  the  furniture  and  books  of  the  chap¬ 
lains’  rooms,  and,  lastly,  the  horses  from  the  stables,  on 
which  Becket  had  prided  himself  to  the  last,  and  on 
which  they  rode  off.3  The  amount  of  plunder  was  esti¬ 
mated  by  Fitzstephen  at  two  thousand  marks.  To  their 
great  surprise  they  found  two  haircloths  among  the  ef¬ 
fects  of  the  Archbishop,  and  threw  them  away.  As  the 
murderers  left  the  cathedral,  a  tremendous  storm  of 
thunder  and  rain  burst  over  Canterbury,  and  the  night 
fell  in  thick  darkness  4  upon  the  scene  of  the  dreadful 
deed. 

The  crowd  was  every  instant  increased  by  the  multi-  . 
tudes  flocking  in  from  the  town  on  the  tidings  of  the 
event.  There  was  still  at  that  moment,  as  in  his  life¬ 
time,  a  strong  division  of  feeling ;  and  Grim  overheard 
even  one  of  the  monks  declare  that  the  Primate  had 
paid  a  just  penalty  for  his  obstinacy,5  and  was  not  to 
be  lamented  as  a  martyr.  Others  said,  “He  wished 
to  be  king,  and  more  than  king ;  let  him  be  king,  let 
him  be  king  !  ”  6  Whatever  horror  was  expressed,  was 
felt  (as  in  the  life-long  remorse  of  Robert  Bruce  for 
the  slaughter  of  the  Red  Corny n  in  the  church  of  Dum¬ 
fries)  not  at  the  murder,  but  at  the  sacrilege. 

At  last,  however,  the  cathedral  was  cleared,  and  the 

1  Gamier,  74,  5.  2  Fitzstephen,  i.  305. 

3  Herbert,  352.  4  Fitzstephen,  i.  304. 

5  Grim,  79,  80.  6  Benedict,  67. 


1170.] 


THE  DEAD  BODY. 


Ill 


gates  shut ; 1  and  for  a  time  the  body  lay  entirely 
deserted.  It  was  not  till  the  night  had  quite  closed 
in,  that  Oshert,  the  chamberlain2  of  the  Archbishop, 
entering  with  a  light,  found  the  corpse  lying  on  its 
face,3  the  scalp  hanging  by  a  piece  of  skin :  he  cut  off 
a  piece  of  his  shirt  to  bind  up  the  frightful  gash.  The 
doors  of  the  cathedral  were  again  opened,  and  the 
monks  returned  to  the  spot.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
they  ventured  to  give  way  to  their  grief,  and  a  loud 
lamentation  resounded  through  the  stillness  of  the 
night.  When  they  turned  the  body  with  its  face 
upwards,  all  were  struck  by  the  calmness  and  beauty 
of  the  countenance :  a  smile  still  seemed  to  play  on 
the  features,  the  color  on  the  cheeks  was  fresh,  and 
the  eyes  were  closed  as  if  in  sleep.4  The  top  of  the 
head,  wound  round  with  Osbert’s  shirt,  was  bathed  in 
blood,  but  the  face  was  marked  only  by  one  faint  streak 
that  crossed  the  nose  from  the  right  temple  to  the  left 
cheek.5  Underneath  the  body  they  found  the  axe 
which  Fitzurse  had  thrown  down,  and  a  small  iron 
hammer,  brought  apparently  to  force  open  the  door ; 
close  by  were  lying  the  two  fragments  of  Le  Bret’s 
broken  sword,  and  the  Archbishop’s  cap,  which  had 
been  struck  off  in  the  beginning  of  the  fray.  All  these 
they  carefully  preserved.  The  blood,  which  with  the 
brains  was  scattered  over  the  pavement,  they  collected 
and  placed  in  vessels ;  and  as  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
hour  increased,  the  bystanders,  who  already  began  to 

1  Roger,  169.  2  Fitzstephen,  i.  305. 

3  Grandison,  iv.  1. 

4  Will.  Cant.,  33.  The  same  appearances  are  described  on  the 
subsequent  morning,  in  Herbert,  358 ;  Grandison,  c.  9. 

5  Benedict,  68;  or  (as  Robert  of  Gloucester  states  it),  “from  the 
left  half  of  his  forehead  to  the  left  half  of  his  chin.”  By  this  mark 
the  subsequent  apparitions  of  Becket  were  often  recognized. 


112  DISCOVERY  OF  THE  HAIRCLOTH  [1170. 

esteem  him  a  martyr,  cut  off  pieces  of  their  clothes 
to  dip  in  the  blood,  and  anointed  their  eyes  with  it. 
The  cloak  and  outer  pelisse,  which  were  rich  with  san¬ 
guinary  stains,  were  given  to  the  poor,  —  a  proof  of  the 
imperfect  apprehension  as  yet  entertained  of  the  value 
of  these  relics,  which  a  few  years  afterwards  would 
have  been  literally  worth  their  weight  in  gold,  and 
which  were  now  sold  for  some  trifling  sum.1 

After  tying  up  the  head  with  clean  linen,  and  fasten¬ 
ing  the  cap  over  it,  they  placed  the  body  on  a  bier,  and 
carried  it  up  the  successive  flights  of  steps  which  led 
from  the  transept  through  the  choir  —  “  the  glorious 
choir,”  as  it  was  called,  “  of  Conrad  ”  —  to  the  high 
altar  in  front  of  which  they  laid  it  down.  The  night 
was  now  far  advanced,  but  the  choir  was  usually 
lighted  —  and  probably,  therefore,  on  this  great  occa¬ 
sion —  by  a  chandelier  with  twenty-four  wax  tapers. 
Vessels  were  placed  underneath  the  body  to  catch  any 
drops  of  blood  that  might  fall,2  and  the  monks  sat 
around  weeping.3  The  aged  Eobert,  Canon  of  Merton, 
the  earliest  friend  and  instructor  of  Becket,  and  one  of 
the  three  who  had  remained  with  him  to  the  last,  con¬ 
soled  them  by  a  narration  of  the  austere  life  of  the 
martyred  prelate,  which  hitherto  had  been  known  only 
to  himself,  as  the  confessor  of  the  Primate,  and  to 
Brun  the  valet.4  In  proof  of  it  he  thrust  his  hand 
under  the  garments,  and  showed  the  monk’s  habit  and 
haircloth  shirt,  which  he  wore  next  to  his  skin.  This 
was  the  one  thing  wanted  to  raise  the  enthusiasm,  of 
the  bystanders  to  the  highest  pitch.  Up  to  that  mo¬ 
ment  there  had  been  a  jealousy  of  the  elevation  of  the 
gay  chancellor  to  the  archbishopric  of  Canterbury. 


1  Benedict,  68. 
8  Roger,  168. 


2  Benedict,  69. 

4  Fitzstephen,  i.  308. 


1170.]  DISCOVERY  OE  THE  HAIRCLOTH.  113 

The  primacy  involved  the  abbacy  of  the  cathedral  mon¬ 
astery  ;  and  the  primates  therefore  had  been,  with  two 
exceptions,  always  chosen  from  some  monastic  society. 
The  fate  of  these  two  had,  we  are  told,  weighed  heavily 
on  Becket’s  mind.  One  was  Stigand,  the  last  Saxon 
Archbishop,  who  ended  his  life  in  a  dungeon,  after,  the 
Conquest ;  the  other  was  Elsey,  who  had  been  appointed 
in  opposition  to  Dunstan,  and  who  after  having  tri¬ 
umphed  over  his  predecessor  Odo  by  dancing  on  his 
grave  was  overtaken  by  a  violent  snow  storm  in  pass¬ 
ing  the  Alps,  and  in  spite  of  the  attempts  to  resuscitate 
him  by  plunging  his  feet  in  the  bowels  of  his  horse, 
was  miserably  frozen  to  death.  Becket  himself,  it  was 
believed,  had  immediately  after  his  consecration  re¬ 
ceived,  from  a  mysterious  1  apparition,  an  awful  warn¬ 
ing  against  appearing  in  the  choir  of  the  cathedral 
in  his  secular  dress  as  chancellor.  It  now  for  the  first 
time  appeared  that,  though  not  formerly  a  monk,  he 
had  virtually  become  one  by  his  secret  austerities. 
The  transport  of  the  fraternity,  on  finding  that  he  had 
been  one  of  themselves,  was  beyond  all  bounds.  They 
burst  at  once  into  thanksgivings,  which  resounded 
through  the  choir ;  fell  on  their  knees  ;  kissed  the 
hands  and  feet  of  the  corpse,  and  called  him  by  the 
name  of  “  Saint  Thomas,”  2  by  which,  from  that  time 
forward,  he  was  so  long  known  to  the  European  world. 
At  the  sound  of  the  shout  of  joy  there  was  a  general 
rush  to  the  choir,  to  see  the  saint  in  sackcloth  who  had 
hitherto  been  known  as  the  chancellor  in  purple  and 
fine  linen.3  A  new  enthusiasm  was  kindled  by  the 

1  Grim,  16.  Another  version,  current  after  his  death,  represented 
him  as  having  secretly  assumed  the  monastic  dress  on  the  day  of  his 
consecration.  (Ant.  Cant.,  vii.  213.) 

2  Fitzstephen,  i.  308. 

3  Ibid. ;  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1416. 

8 


114 


THE  AURORA  BOREALIS. 


[1170. 


spectacle.  Arnold,  a  monk,  who  was  goldsmith  to  the 
monastery,  was  sent  hack,  with  others,  to  the  transept 
to  collect  in  a  basin  any  vestiges  of  the  blood  and 
brains,  now  become  so  precious ;  and  benches  were 
placed  across  the  spot,  to  prevent  its  being  desecrated 
by  the  footsteps  of  the  crowd.1  This  perhaps  was  the 
moment  when  the  great  ardor  of  the  citizens  first  began 
for  washing  their  hands  and  eyes  with  the  blood.  One 
instance  of  its  application  gave  rise  to  a  practice  which 
became  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  all  the  sub¬ 
sequent  pilgrimages  to  the  shrine.  A  citizen  of  Canter¬ 
bury  dipped  a  corner  of  his  shirt  in  the  blood,  went 
home,  and  gave  it,  mixed  in  water,  to  his  wife,  who  was 
paralytic,  and  who  was  said  to  have  been  cured.  This 
suggested  the  notion  of  mixing  the  blood  with  water, 
which,  endlessly  diluted,  was  kept  in  innumerable  vials, 
to  be  distributed  to  the  pilgrims ; 2  and  thus,  as  the 
palm  3  was  a  sign  of  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  and  a 
scallop-shell  of  the  pilgrimage  to  Compostela,  so  ‘a 
leaden  vial  or  bottle  suspended  from  the  neck  became 
the  mark  of  a  pilgrimage  to  Canterbury. 

[Dec.  30.]  Thus  passed  the  night ;  and  it  is  not 
surprising  that  in  the  red  glare  of  an  aurora  borealis,4 
which  after  the  stormy  evening  lighted  up  the  mid¬ 
night  sky,  the  excited  populace,  like  that  at  Eome 
after  the  murder  of  Eossi,  should  fancy  that  they  saw 
the  blood  of  the  martyr  go  up  to  heaven  ;  or  that,  as 
the  wax  lights  sank  down  in  the  cathedral,  and  the 
first  streaks  of  the  gray  winter  morning  broke  through 
the  stained  windows  of  Conrad’s  choir,  the  monks  who 
sat  round  the  corpse  should  imagine  that  the  right  arm 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  308.  2  Ibid.,  309. 

3  Gamier,  78,  16;  Anon.  Lambeth,  p.  134. 

4  Fitzstephen,  i.  304. 


1170.]  UNWRAPPING  OF  THE  CORPSE.  115 

of  the  dead  man  was  slowly  raised  in  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  as  if  to  bless  his  faithful  followers.1 

Early  in  the  next  day  a  rumor  or  message  came  to 
the  monks  that  Robert  de  Broc  forbade  them  to  bury 
the  body  among  the  tombs  of  the  Archbishops,  and  that 
he  threatened  to  drag  it  out,  hang  it  on  a  gibbet,  tear 
it  with  horses,  cut  it  to  pieces,2  or  throw  it  in  some 
pond  or  sink  to  be  devoured  by  swine  or  birds  of  prey, 
as  a  fit  portion  for  the  corpse  of  his  master’s  enemy. 
“  Had  Saint  Peter  so  dealt  with  the  king,”  he  said,  “  by 
the  body  of  Saint  Denys,  if  I  had  been  there,  I  would 
have  driven  my  sword  into  his  skull.”  3  They  accord¬ 
ingly  closed  4  the  doors,  which  apparently  had  remained 
open  through  the  night  to  admit  the  populace,  and 
determined  to  bury  the  corpse  in  the  crypt.  Thither 
they  carried  it,  and  in  that  venerable  vault  proceeded 
to  their  mournful  task,  assisted  by  the  Abbot  of  Box- 
ley  and  the  Prior  of  Dover,5  who  had  come  to  advise 
with  the  Archbishop  about  the  vacancy  of  the  Priory 
at  Canterbury.6  A  discussion  seems  to  have  taken 
place  whether  the  body  should  he  washed,  according 
to  the  usual  custom,  w^ich  ended  in  their  removing 
the  clothes  for  the  purpose.  The  mass  of  garments  in 
which  he  was  wrapped  is  almost  incredible,  and  appears 
to  have  been  worn  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  warmth  and 
in  consequence  of  his  naturally  chilly  temperament.7 

1  Anon.  Passio  Tertia,  156;  Hoveden,  299. 

2  Fitzstephen,  i.  309  ;  Anon.  Lambeth,  p.  134 ;  Benedict,  69  ;  Roger, 
168;  Herbert,  327  ;  Grim,  81 ;  Gamier,  76,  1. 

3  Gamier,  76,  7. 

4  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1417. 

6  The  Prior  of  Dover  was  no  less  a  person  than  Richard,  the  Arch¬ 
bishop’s  chaplain,  and  his  successor  in  the  primacy.  (Matt.  Paris,  127  ; 
Vit.  Abb.  St.  A.,  16,  91.) 

6  Fitzstephen,  i.  309.  7  Gamier,  77,  1. 


116  DISCOVERY  OF  THE  VERMIN.  [1170. 

First,  there  was  the  large  brown  mantle,  with  white 
fringes  of  wool ;  below  this  there  was  a  white  surplice, 
and  again  below  this  a  white  fur  garment  of  lamb’s 
wool.  Next  these,  were  two  short  woollen  pelisses, 
which  were  cut  off  with  knives  and  given  away ;  and 
under  these  the  black  cowled  garment  of  the  Benedic¬ 
tine  order1  and  the  shirt2  without  sleeves  or  fringe,  that 
it  might  not  be  visible  on  the  outside.  The  lowermost 
covering  was  the  haircloth,  which  had  been  made  of 
unusual  roughness,  and  within  the  haircloth  was  a 
warning  letter3  he  had  received  on  the  night  of  the 
27th.  The  existence  of  the  austere  garb  had  been 
pointed  out  on  the  previous  night  by  Robert  of  Merton ; 
but  as  they  proceeded  in  their  task  their  admiration  in¬ 
creased.  The  haircloth  encased  the  whole  body,  down 
to  the  knees ;  the  hair  drawers,4  as  well  as  the  rest  of 
the  dress,  being  covered  on  the  outside  with  white  linen 
so  as  to  escape  observation  ;  and  the  whole  so  fastened 
together  as  to  admit  of  being  readily  taken  off  for  his 
daily  scourgings,  of  which  yesterday’s  portion  was  still 
apparent  in  the  stripes  on  his  body.5  The  austerity  of 
hair  drawers,  close  fitted  as  they  were  to  the  bare  flesh, 
had  hitherto  been  unknown  to  English  saints ;  and  the 
marvel  was  increased  by  the  sight6  —  to  our  notions 
so  revolting  —  of  the  innumerable  vermin  with  which 
the  haircloth  abounded ;  boiling  over  with  them,  as 
one  account  describes  it,  like  water  7  in  a  simmering 
caldron.  At  the  dreadful  sight  all  the  enthusiasm  of 

1  Matt.  Paris,  104. 

2  Gamier,  77 ;  Herbert,  330. 

3  Fitzstephen,  i.  203;  Roger,  169;  Benedict,  20. 

4  Gamier,  77,  40. 

5  Anon.  Passio  Tertia,  156. 

6  Roger,  169  ;  Fitzstephen,  i.  309. 

7  Passio  Quinta,  161. 


1170.] 


BURIAL  IN  THE  CRYPT. 


117 


the  previous  night  revived  with  double  ardor.  They 
looked  at  one  another  in  silent  wonder ;  then  exclaimed, 
“  See,  see  what  a  true  monk  he  was,  and  we  knew  it 
not;”  and  burst  into  alternate  fits  of  weeping  and 
laughter,  between  the  sorrow  of  having  lost  such  a  head 
and  the  joy  of  having  found  such  a  saint.1  The  dis¬ 
covery  of  so  much  mortification,  combined  with  the  more 
prudential  reasons  for  hastening  the  funeral,  induced 
them  to  abandon  the  thought  of  washing  a  corpse  al¬ 
ready,  as  it  was  thought,  sufficiently  sanctified,  and  they 
at  once  proceeded  to  lay  it  out  for  burial. 

Over  the  haircloth,  linen  shirt,  monk’s  cowl,  and 
linen  hose,2  they  put  first  the  dress  in  which  he  was 
consecrated,  and  which  he  had  himself  desired  to  be 
preserved,3  —  namely,  the  alb,  super-humeral,  chris- 
matic,  mitre,  stole,  and  maniple  ;  and  over  these,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  usual  custom  in  archiepiscopal  funerals,  the 
Archbishop’s  insignia,  —  namely,  the  tunic,  dalmatic, 
chasuble,  the  pall  with  its  pins,  the  chalice,  the  gloves, 
the  rings,  the  sandals,  and  the  pastoral  staff,4  —  all  of 
which,  being  probably  kept  in  the  treasury  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral,  were  accessible  at  the  moment.  The  ring  which 
he  actually  wore  at  the  time  of  his  death,  with  a  green 
gem 5  set  in  it,  was  taken  off.  Thus  arrayed,  he  was 
laid  by  the  monks  in  a  new  marble  sarcophagus 6  which 
stood  in  the  ancient  crypt,7  at  the  back  of  the  shrine 
of  the  Virgin,  between  the  altars  of  St.  Augustine  and 

1  Roger,  169  ;  Gamier,  77,  30. 

2  Fitzstephen;  Benedict,  70;  Matt.  Paris,  124. 

3  Fitzstephen,  i.  309.  4  Ibid. 

5  This,  with  a  knife  and  various  portions  of  the  dress,  were  pre¬ 
served  in  the  treasury  of  Glastonbury.  (John  of  Glastonbury,  ed. 

Hearn,  p.  28.) 

6  Grim,  82;  Benedict,  70;  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1417. 

7  Benedict,  70;  Diceto  (Addit.  ad  Alan.),  377  ;  Matt.  Paris,  124. 


118  RE-CONSECRATION  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL.  [1171. 

St.  John  the  Baptist,1  —  the  first  Archbishop,  as  it 
was  observed,  and  the  hold  opponent  of  a  wicked  king. 
The  remains  of  the  blood  and  brains  were  placed  out¬ 
side  the  tomb,  and  the  doors  of  the  crypt  closed  against 
all  entrance.2  No  Mass  was  said  over  the  Archbish¬ 
op’s  grave;3  for  from  the  moment  that  armed  men  had 
entered,  the  church  was  supposed  to  have  been  dese¬ 
crated  ;  the  pavement  of  the  cathedral 4  was  taken  up ; 
the  bells  ceased  to  ring ;  the  walls  were  divested  of 
their  hangings ;  the  crucifixes  were  veiled ;  the  altars 
stripped,  as  in  Passion  Week ;  and  the  services  were 
conducted  without  chanting5  in  the  chapter-house. 
This  desolation  continued  till  the  next  year,  when  Odo 
the  Prior,  with  the  monks,  took  advantage  of  the  arrival 
of  the  Papal  legates,  who  came  to  make  full  inquiry 
into  the  murder,  and  requested  their  influence  with  the 
bishops  to  procure  a  re-consecration.  The  task  was 
intrusted 6  to  the  Bishops  of  Exeter  and  Chester ;  and 
on  the  21st  of  December,  the  Eeast  of  Saint  Thomas 
the  Apostle,  1171  (the  day  of  Saint  Thomas  of  Canter¬ 
bury  was  not  yet  authorized),  Bartholomew,  Bishop  of 
Exeter,  again  celebrated  Mass,  and  preached  a  sermon  on 
the  text,  “For  the  multitude  of  the  sorrows  that  I  had 
in  my  heart,  thy  comforts  have  refreshed  my  soul.”  7 

1  Fitzstephen,  i.  309;  Grandison,  c.  9;  Gervase,  Acta  Pont.,  1673 
(Gervase  was  present) ;  Alan.  339  ;  Matt.  Paris,  125 ;  Gamier,  75.  The 
arrangements  of  this  part  of  the  crypt  were  altered  within  the  next  fifty 
years ;  but  the  spot  is  still  ascertainable,  behind  the  “  Chapel  of  Our 
Lady  Undercroft/’  and  underneath  what  is  now  the  Trinity  Chapel. 

2  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1417. 

3  Fitzstephen,  i.  310  ;  Matt.  Paris,  125  ;  Diceto,  338. 

4  Diceto  (558)  speaks  of  the  dirt  of  the  pavement  from  the  crowd 
who  trod  it  with  dusty  and  muddy  feet.  Matt.  Paris,  126. 

5  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1417. 

6  Gervase,  1421.  Chester  then  was  the  seat  of  the  See  of  Lichfield. 

7  Matt.  Paris,  125.  Bartholomew’s  tomb  may  be  seen  in  the  Lady 
Chapel  of  Exeter  Cathedral. 


1173.] 


CANONIZATION. 


119 


Within  three  years  the  popular  enthusiasm  was  con¬ 
firmed  by  the  highest  authority  of  the  Church.  The 
Archbishop  of  York  had,  some  time  after  the  murder, 
ventured  to  declare  that  Becket  had  perished,  like  Pha¬ 
raoh,  in  his  pride,  and  the  Government  had  endeavored 
to  suppress  the  miracles.  But  the  Papal  Court,  vacil¬ 
lating,  and  often  unfriendly  in  his  lifetime,  now  lent 
itself  to  confer  the  highest  honors  on  his  martyrdom 1 
On  the  very  day  of  the  murder,  some  of  the  Canter¬ 
bury  monks  had  embarked  to  convey  their  own  version 
of  it  to  the  Pope.2  In  1172  legates  were  sent  by  Alex¬ 
ander  III.  to  investigate  the  alleged  miracles,  and  they 
carried  back  to  Rome  the  tunic  stained  with  blood,  and 
a  piece  of  the  pavement  on  which  the  brains  were 
scattered,  —  relics  which  were  religiously  deposited  in 
the  Basilica  of  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore.3  In  1173  a 
Council  was  called  at  Westminster  to  hear  letters  read 
from  the  Pope,  authorizing  the  invocation  of  the  martyr 
as  a  saint.  All  the  bishops  who  had  opposed  him  were 
present,  and  after  begging  pardon  for  their  offence,  ex¬ 
pressed  their  acquiescence  in  the  decision  of  the  Pope. 
In  the  course  of  the  same  year,  on  Ash  Wednesday, 
the  21st  of  February,4  he  was  regularly  canonized,  and 
the  29th  of  December  was  set  apart  as  the  Feast  of 
Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  His  sister  Mary  was  ap¬ 
pointed  Abbess  of  Barking.5 

1  Milman’s  Latin  Christianity,  iii.  532. 

2  Ant.  Cant.,  vii.  216. 

3  Baronius,  xix.  396.  A  fragment  of  the  tunic,  and  small  blue 
bags  said  to  contain  portions  of  the  brain,  are  still  shown  in  the  reli¬ 
quary  of  this  church. 

4  Florence  of  Worcester,  153. 

5  Matt.  Paris,  126.  At  this  council  took  place,  between  Roger  of 
York  and  Richard  of  Canterbury,  the  scene  already  mentioned  (p. 
72).  Roger  nearly  lost  his  life  under  the  sticks  and  fists  of  the  oppo¬ 
site  party,  who  shouted  out,  as  he  rose  from  the  ground  with  crushed 


120 


ESCAPE  OF  THE  MURDERERS. 


[1170. 


A  wooden  altar,  which  remained  unchanged  through 
the  subsequent  alterations  and  increased  magnificence 
of  the  cathedral,  was  erected  on  the  site  of  the  murder, 
in  front  of  the  ancient  stone  wall  of  St.  Benedict’s 
Chapel.  It  was  this  which  gave  rise  to  the  mistaken 
tradition,  repeated  in  books,  in  pictures,  and  in  sculp¬ 
tures,  that  the  Primate  was  slain  whilst  praying  at  the 
altar.1  The  crypt  in  which  the  body  had  been  lain  so 
hastily  and  secretly  became  the  most  sacred  spot  in  the 
church,  and,  even  after  the  “  translation  ”  of  the  relics 
in  1220,  continued  to  be  known  down  to  the  time  of 
the  Reformation  as  “  Becket’s  Tomb.” 2  The  subse¬ 
quent  history  of  those  sacred  spots  must  be  reserved 
for  a  separate  consideration. 

It  remains  for  us  now  to  follow  the  fate  of  the  mur¬ 
derers.  [1170.  Dec.  30.]  On  the  night  of  the  deed 
the  four  knights  rode  to  Saltwood,  leaving  Robert  de 
Broc  in  possession  of  the  palace,  whence,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  brought  or  sent  the  threatening  message  to 
the  monks  on  the  morning  of  the  30th.  They  vaunted 
their  deeds  to  each  other,  and  it  was  then  that  Tracy 
claimed  the  glory  of  having  wounded  John  of  Salis¬ 
bury.  [Dec.  31.]  The  next  day  they  rode  forty 
miles  by  the  sea-coast  to  South-Mailing,  an  archiepis- 
copal  manor  near  Lewes.  On  entering  the  house,  they 

mitre  and  torn  cope,  “  Away,  away,  traitor  of  Saint  Thomas !  thy  hands 
still  reek  with  his  blood  !  ”  (Anglia  Sacra,  i.  72 ;  Gervase,  1433). 

1  The  gradual  growth  of  the  story  is  curious.  (1)  The  post¬ 
humous  altar  of  the  martyrdom  is  represented  as  standing  there  at 
the  time  of  his  death.  (2)  This  altar  is  next  confounded  with  the 
altar  within  the  Chapel  of  St.  Benedict.  (3)  This  altar  is  again  trans¬ 
formed  into  the  High  Altar;  and  (4)  In  these  successive  changes  the 
furious  altercation  is  converted  into  an  assault  on  a  meek,  unprepared 
worshipper,  kneeling  before  the  altar. 

2  See  Gough’s  Sepulchral  Monuments,  i.  26. 


•^■iH*** 


1171.]  LEGEND  OF  THEIR  DEATHS.  121 

threw  off  their  arms  and  trappings  on  the  large  dining- 
table  which  stood  in  the  hall,  and  after  supper  gathered 
round  the  blazing  hearth;  suddenly  the  table  started 
back,  and  threw  its  burden  on  the  ground.  The  attend¬ 
ants,  roused  by  the  crash,  rushed  in  with  lights  and 
replaced  the  arms.  But  soon  a  second  still  louder 
crash  was  heard,  and  the  various  articles  were  thrown 
still  farther  off.  Soldiers  and  servants  with  torches 
searched  in  vain  under  the  solid  table  to  find  the  cause 
of  its  convulsions,  till  one  of  the  conscience-strickei! 
knights  suggested  that  it  was  indignantly  refusing  to 
bear  the  sacrilegious  burden  of  their  arms.  So  ran  the 
popular  story ;  and  as  late  as  the  fourteenth  century  it 
was  still  shown  in  the  same  place,  —  the  earliest  and 
most  memorable  instance  of  a  “  rapping,”  “  leaping,” 
and  “turning  table.”1  From  South-Mailing  they  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  Knaresborough  Castle,  a  royal  fortress  then 
in  the  possession  of  Hugh  de  Moreville,  where  they 
remained  for  a  year.2  The  local  tradition  still  points 
out  the  hall  where  they  fled  for  refuge,  and  the  vaulted 
prison  where  they  were  confined  after  their  capture. 

From  this  moment  they  disappear  for  a  time  in  the 
black  cloud  of  legend  with  which  the  monastic  histori¬ 
ans  have  enveloped  their  memory.  Dogs,  it  was  said, 
refused  to  eat  the  crumbs  that  fell  from  their  table.3 
One  of  them  in  a  fit  of  madness  killed  his  own  son.4 
Sent  by  the  king  to  Scotland,  they  were  driven  back 
by  the  Scottish  Court  to  England,  and  but  for  the  ter¬ 
ror  of  Henry’s  name,  would  have  been  hanged  on 

1  Grandison,  iv.  1.  “Monstratur  ibidem  ipsa  tabula  in  memoriam 
miraculi  conservata.”  See  also  Giraldus,  in  Wharton’s  Anglia  Sa- 
era,  425. 

2  Brompton,  1064 ;  Diceto,  557. 

3  Brompton,  1064  ;  Hoveden,  299. 

4  Passio  Tertia;  Giles,  ii.  157. 


122 


LEGEND  OF  THEIR  DEATHS. 


[1171. 


gibbets.1  Struck  with  remorse,  they  went  to  Eome  to 
receive  the  sentence  of  Pope  Alexander  III.,  and  by 
him  were  sent  to  expiate  their  sins  by  a  military  ser¬ 
vice  of  fourteen  years  2  in  the  Holy  Land.  Moreville, 
Pitzurse,  and  Brito, —  so  the  story  continues, —  after 
three  years’  fighting,  died,  and  were  buried,  according 
to  some  accounts,  in  front  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  or  of  the  Templars,  at  Jerusalem ;  according 
to  others,  in  front  of  the  “  Church  of  the  Black  Moun¬ 
tain,”  3  with  an  inscription  on  their  graves,  — - 

“  Hie  jacent  miseri  qui  martyrisaverunt 
Beatum  Thomam  Archiepiscopum  Cantuariensem.” 

Tracy  alone,  it  was  said,  was  never  able  to  accom¬ 
plish  his  vow.  The  crime  of  having  struck  the  first 
blow  4  was  avenged  by  the  winds  of  heaven,  which  al¬ 
ways  drove  him  back.  According  to  one  story,  he 
never  left  England.  According  to  another,  and,  as  we 
shall  see,  more  correct  version,  he  reached  the  coast  of 
Calabria,  and  was  then  seized  at  Cosenza  with  a  dread¬ 
ful  disorder,  which  caused  him  to  tear  his  flesh  from 
his  bones  with  his  own  hands,  calling,  “  Mercy,  Saint 
Thomas!”  and  there  he  died  miserably,  after  having 
made  his  confession  to  the  bishop  of  the  place.  His 

1  Ant.  Cant.,  vii.  218. 

2  Ibid.,  219. 

3  Baronius,  xix.  399.  The  legend  hardly  aims  at  probabilities. 
The  “  Church  of  the  Black  Mountain  ”  may  possibly  be  a  mountain 
so  called  in  Languedoc,  near  the  Abbey  of  St.  Papoul.  The  front  of 
the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is,  and  always  must  have  been,  a 
square  of  public  resort  to  all  the  pilgrims  of  the  world,  where  no  tombs 
either  of  murderer  or  saint  could  have  ever  been  placed.  The  Church 
of  the  Templars  was  “the  Mosque  of  the  Rock,”  and  the  front  was  the 
sacred  platform  of  the  sanctuary,  —  a  less  impossible  place,  but  still 
very  improbable.  Nothing  of  the  kind  now  exists  on  either  spot. 

4  “Primus  percussor.”  —  Baronius,  xix.  399.  See  Robert  of 
Gloucester,  1301-1321  ;  Fuller’s  Worthies,  357. 


1171.] 


LEGEND  OF  THEIR  DEATHS. 


123 


fate  was  long  remembered  among  his  descendants  in 
Gloucestershire,  and  gave  rise  to  the  distich  that  — 

“  The  Tracys 

Have  always  the  wind  in  their  faces.” 

Another  version  of  the  story,  preserved  in  the  tradi¬ 
tions  of  Flanders,  was  as  follows.  Immediately  after 
the  murder,  they  lost  all  sense  of  taste  and  smell.  The 
Pope  ordered  them  to  wander  through  the  world,  never 
sleeping  two  nights  in  the  same  place,  till  both  senses 
were  recovered.  In  their  travels  they  arrived  at  Co¬ 
logne  ;  and  when  wine  was  poured  out  for  them  in  the 
inn,  they  perceived  its  taste  ( smacke )  ;  it  seemed  to  them 
sweeter  than  honey,  and  they  cried  out,  “  0  blessed 
Cologne !  ”  They  went  on  to  Mechlin ;  and  as  they 
passed  through  the  town,  they  met  a  woman,  carrying  a 
basket  of  newly  baked  bread, —  they  “found  the  smell” 
( rueck )  of  it,  and  cried,  “  0  holy  Mechlin  !  ”  Great  were 
the  benefits  heaped  by  the  Pope  on  these  two  towns, 
when  he  heard  of  it.  The  brothers  (so  they  are  styled 
in  the  Mechlin  tradition)  built  huts  for  themselves 
under  the  walls  of  the  Church  of  St.  Eumold,  the  pa¬ 
tron  saint  of  Mechlin,  and  died  there.  Over  their  grave, 
written  on  the  outer  wall  of  the  circular  Chapel  of  St. 
Eumold,  now  destroyed,  was  the  following  epitaph : 
Rychardus  Brito,  necnon  Morialius  Hugo;  Guilhelmus 
Traci,  Reginaldus  films  Ursi :  Tliomam  martyrium  sub- 
ire  fecere  jprimatem ,l 

Such  is  the  legend.  The  real  facts,  so  far  as  we  can 
ascertain  them,  are  in  some  respects  curiously  at  vari¬ 
ance  with  it ;  in  other  respects,  no  less  curiously  con¬ 
firm  it.  On  the  one  hand  the  general  fate  of  the  mur¬ 
derers  was  far  less  terrible  than  the  popular  tradition 

1  Acta  S.  Rumoldi  Sollerius,  Antwerp,  1718,  communicated  by 
the  kindness  of  Mr.  King. 


124 


THEIR  REAL  HISTORY. 


delighted  to  believe.  It  would  seem  that,  by  a  sin¬ 
gular  reciprocity,  the  principle  for  which  Becket  had 
contended  —  that  priests  should  not  be  subjected  to 
secular  courts  —  prevented  the  trial  of  a  layman  for 
the  murder  of  a  priest  by  any  other  than  by  a  clerical 
tribunal.1  The  consequence  was,  that  the  perpetrators 
of  what  was  thought  the  most  heinous  crime  since  the 
Crucifixion  could  be  visited  with  no  other  penalty  than 
excommunication.  That  they  should  have  performed 
a  pilgrimage  to  Palestine  is  in  itself  not  improbable ; 
and  one  of  them,  as  we  shall  see,  certainly  attempted 
it.  The  Bishops  of  Exeter  and  Worcester  wrote  to 
the  Pope,  urging  the  necessity  of  their  punishment, 
but  adding  that  any  one  who  undertook  such  an  office 
would  be  regarded  as  an  enemy  of  God  and  of  the 
Church.2  But  they  seem  before  long  to  have  re¬ 
covered  their  position.  The  other  enemies  of  Becket 
even  rose  to  high  offices,  —  John  of  Oxford  was  made 
within  five  years  Bishop  of  Norwich ;  and  Geoffrey 
Riddell,  Becket’s  “  archdevil,”  within  four  years  Bishop 
of  Ely  [1173]  ;  and  Richard  of  Ilchester,  Archdeacon 
of  Poitiers  within  three  years. 

The  murderers  themselves,  within  the  first  two  years 
of  the  murder,  were  living  at  court  on  familiar  terms 
with  the  king,  and  constantly  joined  him  in  the 
pleasures  of  the  chase,3  or  else  hawking  and  hunting 
in  England.4 

1  Such,  at  least,  seems  the  most  probable  explanation.  The  fact  of 
the  law  is  stated,  as  in  the  text,  by  Speed  (p.  511).  The  law  was  al¬ 
tered  in  1176  (23  H.  II.),  —  that  is,  seven  years  from  the  date  of  the 
murder,  at  the  time  of  the  final  settlement  of  the  Constitutions  of  Clar¬ 
endon,  between  Henry  II.  and  the  Papal  Legate  (Matt.  Paris,  132), — 
and  from  that  time  slayers  of  clergy  were  punished  before  the  Grand 
Justiciary  in  the  presence  of  the  Bishop. 

2  John  of  Salisbury’s  Letters  (Giles,  ii.  273). 

3  Gervase,  1422.  4  Lansdowne  MS.  (Ant.  Cant.,  vii.  211). 


MOREVILLE;  FITZURSE. 


125 


Moreville,1  who  had  been  Justice-Itinerant  in  the 
counties  of  Northumberland  and  Cumberland  at  the 
time  of  the  murder,  was  discontinued  from  his  office 
the  ensuing  year;  but  in  the  first  year  of  King  John 
he  is  recorded  as  paying  twenty-five  marks  and  three 
good  palfreys  for  holding  his  court  so  long  as  Helwise 
his  wife  should  continue  in  a  secular  habit.  He  pro¬ 
cured,  about  the  same  period,  a  charter  for  a  fair  and 
market  at  Kirk  Oswald,  and  died  shortly  afterwards, 
leaving  two  daughters.2  The  sword  which  he  wore 
during  the  murder  is  stated  by  Camden  to  have  been 
preserved  in  his  time ;  and  is  believed  to  be  the  one 
still  shown  in  the  hall  of  Brayton  Castle,3  between 
Carlisle  and  Whitehaven.  A  cross  near  the  Castle  of 
Egremont,  which  passed  into  his  family,  was  dedicated 
to  Saint  Thomas,  and  the  spot  where  it  stood  is  still 
called  St.  Thomas’s  Cross.  Fitzurse  is  said  to  have 
gone  over  to  Ireland,  and  there  to  have  become  the 
ancestor  of  the  M‘Mahon  family  in  the  north  of  Ire¬ 
land, —  M'Mahon  being  the  Celtic  translation  of  Bear’s 
son.4  On  his  flight  the  estate  which  he  held  in  the 
Isle  of  Thanet,  Barham  or  Berham  Court,  lapsed  to 
his  kinsman  Bobert  of  Berham,  —  Berham  being,  as  it 
would  seem,  the  English,  as  M‘Mahon  was  the  Irish, 
version  of  the  name  Fitzurse.5  His  estate  of  Willeton, 
in  Somersetshire,  he  made  over,  —  half  to  the  knights 

1  Foss’s  Judges,  i.  279,  280. 

2  Lysons’s  Cumberland,  p.  127.  Nichols’s  Pilgrimage  of  Erasmus, 
p.  220.  He  must  not  be  confounded  with  his  namesake,  the  founder 
of  Dryburgh  Abbey. 

3  Now  tbe  property  of  Sir  Wilfred  Lawson,  Bart.,  where  I  saw  it 
in  1856.  The  sword  bears  as  an  inscription,  “Gott  bewahr  die  auf- 
richten  Scbotten.”  The  word  “  bewahr  ”  proves  that  the  inscription 
(whatever  may  be  the  date  of  the  sword)  cannot  be  older  than  the 
sixteenth  century. 

4  Fuller’s  Worthies.  5  Harris’s  Kent,  313. 


126 


BRET;  FITZRANULPH;  TRACY. 


of  St.  John  the  year  after  the  murder,  probably  in  ex¬ 
piation  ;  the  other  half  to  his  brother  Eobert,  who  built 
the  Chapel  of  Willeton.  The  descendants  of  the  fam¬ 
ily  lingered  for  a  long  time  in  the  neighborhood  under 
the  same  name,  —  corrupted  into  Fitzour,  Fisliour,  and 
Fisher.1  The  family  of  Bret,  or  Brito,  was  carried  on,  as 
we  shall  shortly  see,  through  at  least  two  generations  of 
female  descendants.  The  village  of  Sanford,  in  Somer¬ 
setshire,  is  still  called,  from  the  family,  “  Sanford  Bret .”  2 

Eobert  Fitzranulph,  who  had  followed  the  four 
knights  into  the  church,  retired  at  that  time  from  the 
shrievalty  of  Nottingham  and  Derby,  which  he  had 
held  during  the  six  previous  years,  and  is  said  to  have 
founded  a  priory  of  Beauchief  in  expiation  of  his 
crime.3  But  his  son  William  succeeded  to  the  office, 
and  was  in  places  of  trust  about  the  court  till  the 
reign  of  John.4  Eobert  de  Broc  appears  to  have  had 
the  custody  of  the  Castle  of  Hagenett,  or  Agenet,  in 
East  Anglia.6 

The  history  of  Tracy  is  the  most  remarkable  of  the 
whole.  Within  four  years  from  the  murder  he  appears 
as  Justiciary  of  Normandy;  he  was  present  at  Falaise 
in  1174,  when  William,  King  of  Scotland,  did  homage 
to  Henry  II.,  and  in  1176  was  succeeded  in  his  office 
by  the  Bishop  of  Winchester.6  This  is  the  last  au¬ 
thentic  notice  of  him.  But  his  name  appears  long 
subsequently  in  the  somewhat  conflicting  traditions 
of  Gloucestershire  and  Devonshire,  the  two  counties 
where  his  chief  estates  lay.  The  local  histories  of  the 

1  Oollinson’s  Somersetshire,  iii.  487.  2  Ibid.,  514. 

3  The  tradition  is  disputed,  but  without  reason,  in  Pegge’s  Beau- 
chief  Abbey,  p.  34. 

4  Boss’s  Judges,  i.  202. 

5  Brompton,  1089  ;  Gervase,  1426. 

6  Nichols’s  Pilgrimage  of  Erasmus,  p.  221. 


TRACY. 


127 


former  endeavor  to  identify  him  in  the  wars  of  John 
and  of  Henry  III.,  as  late  as  1216  and  1222.  But 
even  without  cutting  short  his  career  by  any  untimely 
end,  such  longevity  as  this  would  ascribe  to  him  — 
bringing  him  to  a  good  old  age  of  ninety  —  makes  it 
probable  that  he  has  been  confounded  with  his  son 
or  grandson.1  There  can  be  little  doubt,  however, 
that  his  family  still  continues  in  Gloucestershire.  His 
daughter  married  Sir  Gervase  de  Courtenay ;  and  it  is 
apparently  from  their  son,  Oliver  de  Tracy,  who  took 
the  name  of  his  mother,  that  the  present  Lord  Wemyss 
and  Lord  Sudley  are  both  descended.  The  pedigree,  in 
fact,  contrary  to  all  received  opinions  on  the  subject  of 
judgments  on  sacrilege,  “exhibits  a  very  singular  in¬ 
stance  of  an  estate  descending  for  upwards  of  seven 
hundred  years  in  the  male  line  of  the  same  family.” 2 
The  Devonshire  story  is  more  romantic,  and  probably 
contains  more  both  of  truth  and  of  fable.  There  are 
two  points  on  the  coast  of  North  Devon  to  which  local 
tradition  has  attached  his  name.  One  is  a  huge  rent 
or  cavern  called  “  Crookhorn  ”  (from  a  crooked  crag 
now  washed  away)  in  the  dark  rocks  immediately  west 
of  Ilfracombe,  which  is  left  dry  at  low  water,  but  filled 
by  the  tide  except  for  three  months  in  the  year.  At 
one  period  within  those  three  months,  “  Sir  William 
Tracy,”  according  to  the  story  of  the  Ilfracombe  boat¬ 
men,  “hid  himself  for  a  fortnight  immediately  after 
the  murder,  and  was  fed  by  his  daughter.”  The  other 
and  more  remarkable  spot  is  Morthoe,  a  village  situ¬ 
ated  a  few  miles  farther  west  on  the  same  coast,  —  “  the 
height  or  hold  of  Morte.”  In  the  south  transept  of 
the  parish  church  of  this  village,  dedicated  to  Saint 

1  Rudder’s  Gloucestershire,  776. 

2  Ibid.,  770;  Britton’s  Toddington. 


128 


TRACY. 


Mary  Magdalene,  is  a  tomb,  for  which  the  transept  has 
evidently  been  built.  On  the  black  marble  covering, 
which  lies  on  a  freestone  base,  is  an  inscription  closing 
with  the  name  of  “  Sir  William  Tracy,  —  The  Lord 
have  mercy  on  his  soul.”  This  tomb  was  long  sup¬ 
posed,  and  is  still  believed  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
village,  to  contain  the  remains  of  the  murderer,  who 
is  further  stated  to  have  founded  the  church.  The  fe¬ 
male  figures  sculptured  on  the  tomb  —  namely,  Saint 
Catherine  and  Saint  Mary  Magdalene  —  are  represented 
as  his  wife  and  daughter.  That  this  story  is  fabulous 
has  now  been  clearly  proved  by  documentary  evidence, 
as  well  as  by  the  appearance  of  the  architecture  and 
the  style  of  the  inscription.  The  present  edifice  is  of 
the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  The  tomb  and  transept  are 
of  the  reign  of  Edward  II.  “  Sir 1  William  Tracy  ” 
was  the  rector  of  the  parish,  who  died  and  left  this 
chantry  in  1322 ;  and  the  figure  carved  on  the  tomb 
represents  him  in  his  sacerdotal  vestments,  with  the ' 
chalice  in  his  hand.  But  although  there  is  thus  no 
proof  that  the  murderer  was  buried  in  the  church,  and 
although  it  is  possible  that  the  whole  story  may  have 
arisen  from  the  mistake  concerning  this  monument, 
there  is  still  no  reason  to  doubt  that  in  this  neighbor¬ 
hood  “  he  lived  a  private  life,  when  wind  and  weather 
turned  against  him  ”  2  William  of  Worcester  states 
that  he  retired  to  the  western  parts  of  England ;  and 
this  statement  is  confirmed  by  the  well-attested  fact  of 

1  Ecclesiastical  Antiquities  of  Devonshire,  ii.  82.  The  title  “  Sir  ” 
was  the  common  designation  of  parish  priests.  I  have  here  to  express 
my  obligations  to  the  kindness  of  the  Rev.  Charles  Crumpe,  who  has 
devoted  much  labor  to  prove  that  the  lid  of  the  tomb,  though  not  the 
tomb  itself,  may  have  belonged  to  the  grave  of  the  murderer.  Eor 
the  reasons  above  given,  I  am  unable  to  concur  with  him. 

2  Pollwhele’s  Devonshire,  i.  480. 


TRACY. 


129 


his  confession  to  Bartholomew,  Bishop  of  Exeter.  The 
property  belonged  to  the  family,  and  there  is  an  old 
farmhouse,  close  to  the  sea-shore,  still  called  Woolla- 
combe  Tracy,  which  is  said  to  mark  the  spot  where  he 
lived  in  banishment.  Beneath  it,  enclosed  within  black 
jagged  headlands,  extends  Morte  Bay.  Across  the  bay 
stretch  the  Woollacombe  Sands,  remarkable  as  being  the 
only  sands  along  the  north  coast,  and  as  presenting  a 
pure  and  driven  expanse  for  some  miles.  Here,  so  runs 
the  legend,  he  was  banished  “  to  make  bundles  of  the 
sand,  and  binds  [wisps]  of  the  same.”  1 

Besides  these  floating  traditions  there  are  what  may 
be  called  two  standing  monuments  of  his  connection 
with  the  murder.  One  is  the  Priory  of  Woodspring, 
near  the  Bristol  Channel,  which  was  founded  in  1210 
by  William  de  Courtenay,  probably  his  grandson,  in 
honor  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  To  this  priory  lands 
were  bequeathed  by  Maud  the  daughter,  and  Alice  the 
granddaughter,  of  the  third  murderer,  Bret  or  Brito,  in 
the  hope,  expressed  by  Alice,  that  the  intercession  of 
the  glorious  martyr  might  never  be  wanting  to  her  and 
her  children.2  Its  ruins  still  remain  under  the  long 
promontory  called,  from  it,  “  St.  Thomas’s  Head.”  In 
the  old  church  of  Kewstoke,  about  three  miles  from 
Woodspring,  during  some  repairs  in  1852,  a  wooden 
cup,  much  decayed,  was  discovered  in  a  hollow  in  the 
back  of  a  statue  of  the  Virgin  fixed  against  the  north 
wall  of  the  choir.  The  cup  contained  a  substance 
which  was  decided  to  be  the  dried  residuum  of  blood. 
From  the  connection  of  the  priory  with  the  murderers 

1  This  I  heard  from  the  people  on  the  spot.  It  is  of  course  a  mere 
appropriation  of  a  wide-spread  story,  here  suggested  by  the  locality. 

2  Collinson’s  Somersetshire,  iii.  487,  543. 

9 


130 


TRACY. 


of  Becket,  and  from  the  fact  that  the  seal  of  the  Prior 
contained  a  cup  or  chalice  as  part  of  its  device,  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  this  ancient  cup  was  thus  pre¬ 
served  at  the  time  of  the  Dissolution,  as  a  valuable 
relic,  and  that  the  blood  which  it  contained  was  that  of 
the  murdered  Primate.1 

The  other  memorial  of  Tracy  is  still  more  curious, 
as  partially  confirming  and  certainly  illustrating  the 
legendary  account  which  has  been  given  above  of  his 
adventure  in  Calabria.  In  the  archives  of  Canterbury 
Cathedral  a  deed  exists  by  which  “  William  de  Tracy, 
for  the  love  of  God,  and  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul 
and  his  ancestors,  and  for  the  love  of  the  blessed 
Thomas  Archbishop  and  Martyr,”  makes  over  to  the 
Chapter  of  Canterbury  the  Manor  of  Daccombe,  for  the 
clothing  and  support  of  a  monk  to  celebrate  Masses 
for  the  souls  of  the  living  and  the  dead.  The  deed 
is  without  date,  and  it  might  possibly,  therefore,  have 
been  ascribed  to  a  descendant  of  Tracy,  and  not  to  the 
murderer  himself.  But  its  date  is  fixed  by  the  confir¬ 
mation  of  Henry,  attested  as  that  confirmation  is  by 
“  Bichard,  elect  of  Winchester,”  and  “  Bobert,  elect  of 
Hereford,”  to  the  year  1174  (the  only  year  when 
Henry’s  presence  in  England  coincided  with  such  a 
conjunction  in  the  two  sees).2  The  manor  of  Dac¬ 
combe,  or  Dockham,  in  Devonshire,  is  still  held  un¬ 
der  the  Chapter  of  Canterbury,  and  is  thus  a  present 
witness  of  the  remorse  with  which  Tracy  humbly 
begged  that,  on  the  scene  of  his  deed  of  blood,  Masses 

1  Journal  of  the  Arch  geological  Institute,  vi.  400.  The  cup,  or 
rather  fragment  of  the  cup,  is  in  the  museum  at  Taunton. 

2  This  deed  (which  is  given  in  the  Appendix  to  “  Becket’s  Shrine  ”) 
is  slightly  mentioned  by  Lord  Lyttelton  in  his  “  History  of  Henry  II.,” 
iv.  284  ;  but  he  appears  not  to  have  seen  it,  and  is  ignorant  of  the  cir* 
cumstances  which  incontestably  fix  the  date. 


PICTORIAL  REPRESENTATIONS  OF  THE  MURDER.  131 

might  be  offered,  not  for  himself  individually  (this,  per¬ 
haps,  could  hardly  have  been  granted),  but  as  in¬ 
cluded  in  the  general  category  of  “  the  living  and  the 
dead.”  But,  further,  this  deed  is  found  in  company 
with  another  document,  by  which  it  appears  that  one 
William  Thaun,  before  his  departure  to  the  Holy  Land 
with  his  master ,  made  his  wife  swear  to  render  up  to 
the  Blessed  Thomas  and  the  monks  of  Canterbury  all 
his  lands,  given  to  him  by  his  lord,  William  de  Tracy. 
He  died  on  his  journey,  his  widow  married  again,  and 
her  second  husband  prevented  her  fulfilment  of  her 
oath ;  she,  however,  survived  him,  and  the  lands  were 
duly  rendered  up.  From  this  statement  we  learn  that 
Tracy  really  did  attempt,  if  not  fulfil,  a  journey  to  the 
Holy  Land.  But  the  attestation  of  the  bequest  of 
Tracy  himself  enables  us  to  identify  the  story  still 
further.  One  of  the  witnesses  is  the  Abbot  of  St. 
Euphemia ;  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  this 
Abbey  of  St.  Euphemia  was  the  celebrated  convent  of 
that  name  in  Calabria,  not  twenty  miles  from  Cosenza, 
the  very  spot  where  the  detention,  though  not  the 
death,  of  Tracy  is  thus,  as  it  would  appear,  justly 
placed  by  the  old  story. 

The  figures  of  the  murderers  may  be  seen  in  the  rep¬ 
resentations  of  the  martyrdom,  which  on  walls  or  in 
painted  windows  or  in  ancient  frescos  have  survived 
the  attempted  extermination  of  all  the  monuments  of 
the  traitor  Becket  by  King  Henry  VIII.  Sometimes 
three,  sometimes  four,  are  given,  but  always  so  far 
faithful  to  history  that  Moreville  is  stationed  aloof 
from  the  massacre.  Two  vestiges  of  such  representa¬ 
tion  still  remain  in  Canterbury  Cathedral.  One  is  a 
painting  on  a  board,  now  greatly  defaced,  at  the  head 
of  the  tomb  of  King  Henry  IV.  It  is  engraved,  though 


132  PICTORIAL  REPRESENTATIONS  OF  THE  MURDER. 


not  quite  correctly,  in  Carter’s  “  Ancient  Sculpture  and 
Painting ;  ”  and  through  the  help  of  the  engraving,  the 
principal  figures  can  still  be  dimly  discerned.1  There 
is  the  common  mistake  of  making  the  Archbishop  kneel 
at  the  altar,  and  of  representing  Grim,  with  his  blood¬ 
stained  arm,  as  the  bearer  of  the  cross.  The  knights 
are  carefully  distinguished  from  one  another.  Bret, 
with  boars’  heads  embroidered  on  his  surcoat,  is  in  the 
act  of  striking.  Tracy  appears  to  have  already  dealt  a 
blow ;  and  the  bloody  stains  are  visible  on  his  sword,  to 
mark  the  “  'primus  percussor”  Pitzurse,  with  bears  on 
his  coat,  is  “  stirring  the  brains  ”  of  his  victim,  holding 
his  sword  with  both  hands  perpendicularly,  thus  taking 
the  part  sometimes  ascribed  to  him,  though  really  be¬ 
longing  to  Mauclerc.  Moreville,  distinguished  by  fleurs- 
de-lis,  stands  apart.  All  of  them  have  beards  of  the 
style  of  Henry  IY.  On  the  ground  lies  the  bloody 
scalp,  or  cap,  it  is  difficult  to  determine  which.2  There 

1  A  correct  copy  has  now  been  made  by  Mr.  George  Austin,  of 
Canterbury. 

2  A  much  more  faithful  representation  is  given  in  an  illuminated 
Psalter  in  the  British  Museum  (Harl.  1502),  undoubtedly  of  the  pe¬ 
riod,  and,  as  Becket  is  depicted  without  the  nimbus,  probably  soon 
after,  if  not  before,  the  canonization.  He  is  represented  in  white 
drapery,  falling  towards  the  altar.  His  gray  cap  is  dropping  to  the 
ground.  Eitzurse  and  Tracy  are  rightly  given  Avith  coats  of  mail  up 
to  their  eyes.  Moreville  is  without  helmet  or  armor ;  Eitzurse  is 
wounding  Grim.  A  light  hangs  from  the  roof.  The  palace  (appar¬ 
ently),  with  the  town  Avail,  is  seen  in  the  distance.  There  is  another 
illumination  in  the  same  Psalter,  representing  the  burial.  In  the 
“Journal  of  the  Archaeological  Association,”  April,  1854,  there  is  a  full 
account  of  a  fresco  in  St.  John’s  Church,  Winchester  ;  in  the  “  Arche- 
ologia  ”  (vol.  ix.),  of  one  at  Brereton  in  Cheshire.  The  widest  deviation 
from  historical  truth  is  to  be  found  in  the  modern  altar-piece  of  the 
Church  of  St.  Thomas,  which  forms  the  chapel  of  the  English  College 
at  Rome.  The  saint  is  represented  in  a  monastic  garb,  on  his  knees 
before  the  altar  of  a  Roman  Basilica;  and  behind  him  are  the  three 
knights,  in  complete  classical  costume,  brandishing  daggers  like  those 
of  the  assassins  of  Caesar.  The  nearest  likeness  of  the  event  is  in  the 


THE  KING’S  REMORSE. 


133 


is,  besides,  a  sculpture  over  the  south  porch,  where 
Erasmus  states  that  he  saw  the  figures  of  “  the  three 
murderers,”  with  their  names  of  “  Tusci,  Fusci,  and 
Berri,”1  underneath.  These  figures  have  disappeared; 
and  it  is  as  difficult  to  imagine  where  they  could  have 
stood,  as  it  is  to  explain  the  origin  of  the  names  they 
bore ;  but  in  the  portion  which  remains,  there  is  a  rep¬ 
resentation  of  an  altar  surmounted  by  a  crucifix,  placed 
between  the  figures  of  Saint  John  and  the  Virgin,  and 
marked  as  the  altar  of  the  martyrdom,  —  “  Altare  ad 
punctum  ensis,” —  by  sculptured  fragments2  of  a  sword 
which  lie  at  its  foot. 

[1170.]  Thus  far  have  we  traced  the  history  of  the 
murderers,  but  the  great  expiation  still  remained.  The 
king  had  gone  from  Bur  to  Argenton,  a  town  situated 
on  the  high  table-land  of  southern  Normandy.  The 
night  before  the  news  arrived  (so  ran  the  story3)  an 
aged  inhabitant  of  Argenton  was  startled  in  his  sleep 
by  a  scream  rising  as  if  from  the  ground,  and  form¬ 
ing  itself  into  these  portentous  words :  “  Behold,  my 
blood  cries  from  the  earth  more  loudly  than  the  blood 
of  righteous  Abel,  who  was  killed  at  the  beginning  of 
the  world.”  The  old  man  on  the  following  day  was 
discussing  with  his  friend  what  this  could  mean,  when 

choir  of  Sens  Cathedral.  A  striking  modern  picture  of  the  scene, 
just  before  the  onslaught  of  the  murderers,  by  the  English  artist  Mr. 
Cross  (see  Fraser’s  Magazine,  June,  1861),  is  now  hung  in  the  north 
aisle  of  the  cathedral. 

1  “  Berri  ”  is  probably  a  mistake  for  Bear's  Son,  Fitzurse’s  (Fusci’s) 
English  name.  The  same  names  occur  in  Hentzner’s  Travels  in  Eng¬ 
land,  1598  :  “In  vestibulo  templi  quod  est  ad  austrum  in  saxum  incisi 
sunt  tres  armati  .  .  .  additis  his  cognominibus,  Tusci,  Fusci,  Berri.” 

2  That  these  are  representations  of  the  broken  sword  is  confirmed 
by  the  exactly  similar  representation  in  the  seal  of  the  Abbey  of 
Aberbrothock. 

3  Benedict,  de  Mirac.  S.  Thomse,  i.  3. 


134 


THE  KING’S  REMORSE. 


suddenly  the  tidings  arrived  that  Becket  had  been  slain 
at  Canterbury.  When  the  king  heard  it,  he  instantly 
shut  himself  up  for  three  days,  refused  all  food 1  except 
milk  of  almonds,  rolled  himself  in  sackcloth  and  ashes, 
vented  his  grief  in  frantic  lamentations,  and  called  God 
to  witness  that  he  was  in  no  way  responsible  for  the 
Archbishop’s  death,  unless  that  he  loved  him  too  little.2 
He  continued  in  this  solitude  for  five  weeks,  neither 
riding  nor  transacting  public  business,  but  exclaiming 
again  and  again,  “  Alas  !  alas  that  it  ever  happened!”3 
The  French  King,  the  Archbishop  of  Sens,  and  oth¬ 
ers  had  meanwhile  written  to  the  Pope,  denouncing 
Henry  in  the  strongest  language  as  the  murderer,  and 
calling  for  vengeance  upon  his  head ; 4  and  there  was 
a  fear  that  this  vengeance  would  take  the  terrible  form 
of  a  public  excommunication  of  the  king  and  an  inter¬ 
dict  of  the  kingdom.  Henry,  as  soon  as  he  was  roused 
from  his  retirement,  sent  off  as  envoys  to  Rome  the 
Archbishop  of  Rouen,  the  Bishop  of  Worcester,  and 
others  of  his  courtiers,  to  avert  the  dreaded  penalties 
by  announcing  his  submission.  The  Archbishop  of 
Rouen  returned  on  account  of  illness ;  and  Alexander 
III.,  who  occupied  the  Papal  See,  and  who  after  long 
struggles  with  his  rival  had  at  last  got  back  to  Rome, 
refused  to  receive  the  rest.  He  was,  in  fact,  in  the 
eyes  of  Christendom,  not  wholly  guiltless  himself,  in 
consequence  of  the  lukewarmness  with  which  he  had 
fought  Becket’s  fights;  and  it  was  believed  that  he, 
like  the  king,  had  shut  himself  up  on  hearing  the  news 
as  much  from  remorse  as  from  grief.  At  last,  by  a  bribe 

1  Vita  Quadripartita,  p.  143.  “  Milk  of  almonds  ”  is  used  in  Russia 
during  fasts  instead  of  common  milk. 

2  Matt.  Paris,  125. 

3  Vita  Quadripartita,  p.  146  4  Brompton,  1064. 


THE  KING’S  REMORSE. 


135 


of  five  hundred  marks,1  an  interview  was  effected  on 
the  heights  of  ancient  Tusculum,  —  not  yet  superseded 
by  the  modern  Frascati.  Two  cardinals  —  Theodore  (or 
Theodwin),  Bishop  of  Portus,  and  Albert,  Chancellor  of 
the  Holy  See  —  were  sent  to  Normandy  to  receive  the 
royal  penitent’s  submission,2  and  an  excommunication 
was  pronounced  against  the  murderers  on  Maunday 
Thursday,3  which  is  still  the  usual  day  for  the  delivery 
of  papal  maledictions.  The  worst  of  the  threatened 
evils  —  excommunication  and  interdict  —  were  thus 
avoided ;  but  Henry  still  felt  so  insecure  that  he 
crossed  over  to  England,  ordered  all  the  ports  to  be 
strictly  guarded  to  prevent  the  admission  of  the  fatal 
document,  and  refused  to  see  any  one  who  was  the 
bearer  of  letters.4  It  was  during  this  short  stay  that 
he  visited  for  the  last  time  the  old  Bishop  of  Winches¬ 
ter,5  Henry  of  Blois,  brother  of  King  Stephen,  well 
known  as  the  founder  of  the  beautiful  hospital  of  St. 
Cross,  when  the  dying  old  man  added  his  solemn  warn¬ 
ings  to  those  which  were  resounding  from  every  quar¬ 
ter  with  regard  to  the  deed  of  blood.  From  England 
Henry  crossed  St.  George’s  Channel  to  his  new  con¬ 
quests  in  Ireland;  and  it  was  on  his  return  from  the 
expedition  that  the  first  public  expression  of  his  peni¬ 
tence  was  made  in  Normandy. 

He  repaired  to  his  castle  of  Gorram,6  now  Goron,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Colmont,  where  he  first  met  the  Pope’s 

1  Gervase,  1418.  2  Brompton,  1068. 

3  Gervase,  1418.  4  Diceto,  556. 

5  Gervase,  1419. 

6  Ep.  St.  Thomse  in  MSS.  Cott.  Claud.,  b.  ii.  f.  350,  ep.  94;  also 
preserved  in  the  “  Vita  Quadripartita,”  edited  by  Lupus  at  Brussels 
pp.  146,  147,  871,  where,  however,  the  epistle  is  numbered  88  from  a 
Vatican  manuscript. 

The  castle  in  question  was  procured  by  Henry  I.  from  Geoffrey, 
third  duke  of  Mayenne,  and  was  well  known  for  its  deer-preserves.  To 


136  PENANCE  AT  GORRAM  AND  AVRANCHES.  [1172. 

Legates,  and  exchanged  the  kiss  of  charity  with  them. 
This  was  on  the  16th  of  May,  the  Tuesday  before  the 
Eogation  days ;  the  next  day  he  went  on  to  Savigny, 
where  they  were  joined  by  the  Archbishop  of  Eouen 
and  many  bishops  and  noblemen ;  and  finally  proceeded 
to  the  Council,  which  was  to  be  held  under  the  aus¬ 
pices  of  the  Legate  at  Avranches. 

The  great  Norman  cathedral  of  that  beautiful  city 
stood  on  what  was  perhaps  the  finest  situation  of  any 
cathedral  in  Christendom,  —  on  the  brow  of  the  high 
ridge  which  sustains  the  town  of  Avranches,  and  look¬ 
ing  over  the  wide  bay,  in  the  centre  of  which  stands 
the  sanctuary  of  Norman  chivalry  and  superstition,  the 
majestic  rock  of  St.  Michael,  crowned  with  its  for¬ 
tress  and  chapel.  Of  this  vast  cathedral,  one  granite 
pillar  alone  has  survived  the  neglect  that  followed  the 
French  Eevolution,  and  that  pillar  marks  the  spot 
where  Henry  performed  his  first  penance  for  the  mur¬ 
der  of  Becket.  It  bears  an  inscription  with  these' 
words  :  “  Sur  cette  pierre,  ici,  a  la  porte  de  la  cathA 
drale  d Avranches,  apres  le  meurtre  de  Thomas  Becket, 
Archeveque  de  Cantorb^ry,  Henri  II.,  Eoi  dAngleterre 
et  Due  de  Normandie,  regut  a  genoux,  des  ldgats  du 
Pape,  l’absolution  apostolique,  le  Dimanche,  xxi  Mai. 

MCLXXII.”  1 

the  ecclesiastical  historian  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  town  near 
which  it  is  situated  will  possess  a  curious  interest,  as  the  original 
seat  of  the  family  of  Gorram,  or  Gorham,  which  after  giving  birth 
to  Geoffrey  the  Abbot  of  St.  Albans  and  Nicholas  the  theologian,  each 
famous  in  his  day,  has  become  known  in  our  generation  through  the 
celebrated  Gorham  controversy,  which  in  1850  invested  for  a  time 
with  an  almost  European  interest  the  name  of  the  late  George  Corne¬ 
lius  Gorham,  vicar  of  Bramford  Speke.  To  his  courtesy  and  profound 
antiquarian  knowledge  I  am  indebted  for  the  above  references. 

1  So  the  inscription  stands  as  I  saw  it  in  1874.  But  as  it  appeared 
when  I  first  saw  it,  in  1851,  and  also  in  old  guide-books  of  Normandy, 


1172.] 


PENANCE  AT  AVRANCHES. 


137 


The  council  was  held  in  the  Church,  on  the  Friday 
of  the  same  week.  On  the  following  Sunday,  being 
Rogation  Sunday,  or  that  which  precedes  the  Ascen¬ 
sion,  the  king  swore  on  the  Gospels  that  he  had  not 
ordered  or  wished  the  Archbishop’s  murder ;  but  that 
as  he  could  not  put  the  assassins  to  death,  and  feared 
that  his  fury  had  instigated  them  to  the  act,  he  was 
ready  on  his  part  to  make  all  satisfaction,  —  adding,  of 
himself,  that  he  had  not  grieved  so  much  for  the  death 
of  his  father  or  his  mother.1  He  next  swore  adhesion 
to  the  Pope,  restitution  of  the  property  of  the  See  of 
Canterbury,  and  renunciation  of  the  Constitutions  of 
Clarendon  ;  and  further  promised,  if  the  Pope  required, 
to  go  a  three  years’  crusade  to  Jerusalem  or  Spain,  and 
to  support  two  hundred  soldiers  for  the  Templars.2  Af¬ 
ter  this  he  said  aloud,  “  Behold,  my  Lords  Legates,  my 
body  is  in  your  hands  ;  be  assured  that  whatever  you 
order,  whether  to  go  to  Jerusalem  or  to  Rome  or  to 
St.  James  [of  Compostela],  I  am  ready  to  obey.”  The 
spectators,  whose  sympathy  is  usually  with  the  sufferer 
of  the  hour,  were  almost  moved  to  tears.3  He  was 
thence  led  by  the  legates  to  the  porch,  where  he  knelt, 
but  was  raised  up,  brought  into  the  church,  and  recon¬ 
it  was  “xxii  Mai.”  Mr.  Gorham  pointed  out  to  me  at  the  time  that 
the  22d  of  May  did  not  that  year  fall  on  a  Sunday  :  — 

“In  a.  d.  1171,  Sunday  fell  on  May  23d. 

In  a.  D.  1172,  “  “  “  May  21st. 

In  a.  D.  1173,  “  “  “  May  20th. 

The  only  years  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  in  which  May  22d  fell  on  a 
Sunday  were  a.  d.  1155,  1160,  1166,  1177,  1183,  1188.”  There  seems 
no  reason  to  doubt  the  year  1172,  which  is  fixed  by  the  Cotton  MS. 
Life  of  Saint  Thomas,  nor  the  fact  that  it  was  in  May ;  not,  as  Ger- 
vase  (p.  422)  states,  on  the  27th  of  September,  misled  perhaps,  as  Mr. 
Gorham  suggests,  by  some  document  subsequently  signed  by  the 
king. 

1  Diceto,  557. 

2  Alan.,  in  Vita  Quadripartita,  p.  147. 


3  Gervase,  1422. 


138 


THE  KING  AT  BONNEVILLE. 


[1174. 


ciled.  The  young  Henry,  at  his  father’s  suggestion,  was 
also  present,  and,  placing  his  hand  in  that  of  Cardinal 
Albert,1  promised  to  make  good  his  father’s  oath.  The 
Archbishop  of  Tours  was  in  attendance,  that  he  might 
certify  the  penance  to  the  French  king. 

Two  years  passed  again,  and  the  fortunes  of  the  king 
grew  darker  and  darker  with  the  rebellion  of  his  sons. 
It  was  this  which  led  to  the  final  and  greater  pen¬ 
ance  at  Canterbury.  [1174.]  He  was  conducting  a 
campaign  against  Prince  Richard  in  Poitou,  when  the 
Bishop  of  Winchester  arrived  with  the  tidings  that 
England  was  in  a  state  of  general  revolt.  The  Scots 
had  crossed  the  border,  under  their  king;  Yorkshire 
was  in  rebellion,  under  the  standard  of  Mowbray; 
Norfolk,  under  Bigod ;  the  midland  counties,  under 
Ferrers  and  Huntingdon  ;  and  the  Earl  of  Flanders 
with  Prince  Henry  was  meditating  an  invasion  of  Eng¬ 
land  from  Flanders.  All  these  hostile  movements  were 
further  fomented  and  sustained  by  the  revival  of  the 
belief,  not  sufficiently  dissipated  by  the  penance  at 
Avranches,  that  the  king  had  himself  been  privy  to  the 
murder  of  the  saint.  In  the  winter  after  that  event,  a 
terrible  storm  had  raged  through  England,  Ireland,  and 
France,  and  the  popular  imagination  heard  in  the  long 
roll  of  thunder  the  blood  of  Saint  Thomas  roaring  to 
God  for  vengeance.2  The  next  year,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  saint  had  been  canonized ;  and  his  fame  as  the 
great  miracle-worker  of  the  time  was  increasing  every 
month.  It  was  under  these  circumstances  that  on  the 
midsummer-day  of  the  year  1174  the  Bishop  found  the 
king  at  Bonneville.3  So  many  messages  had  been  daily 

1  Alan.,  in  Vita  Quadripartita,  pp.  147,  148. 

2  Matthew  of  Westminster,  250. 

3  “  The  chroniclers  have  made  a  confusion  between  June  and  July ; 
but  July  is  right.  ”  —  Hoveden,  308. 


HIS  RIDE  FROM  SOUTHAMPTON. 


139 


despatched,  and  so  much  importance  was  attached  to 
the  character  of  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  that  the 
Normans,  on  seeing  his  arrival,  exclaimed,  “  The  next 
thing  that  the  English  will  send  over  to  fetch  the  king 
will  be  the  Tower  of  London  itself.” 1  Henry  saw  at 
once  the  emergency.  That  very  day,  with  the  queens 
Eleanor  and  Margaret,  his  son  and  daughter  John  and 
Joan,  and  the  princesses,  wives  of  his  other  sons,  he  set 
out  for  England.  He  embarked  in  spite  of  the  threat¬ 
ening  weather  and  the  ominous  looks  of  the  captain. 
A  tremendous  gale  sprang  up ;  and  the  king  uttered  a 
public  prayer  on  board  the  ship,  that,  “  if  his  arrival  in 
England  would  be  for  good,  it  might  be  accomplished ; 
if  for  evil,  never.” 

The  wind  abated,  and  he  arrived  at  Southampton 
on  Monday,  the  8th  of  July.  From  that  moment  he 
began  to  live  on  the  penitential  diet  of  bread  and 
water,  and  deferred  all  business  till  he  had  fulfilled 
his  vow.  He  rode  to  Canterbury  with  speed,  avoiding 
towns  as  much  as  possible,  and  on  Friday,  the  12th  of 
July,  approached  the  sacred  city,  probably  by  a  road  of 
which  traces  still  remain,  over  the  Surrey  hills,  and 
which  falls  into  what  w~as  then,  as  now,  the  London 
road  by  the  ancient  village  and  ho’spital  of  Harbledown. 
This  hospital,  or  leper -house,  now  venerable  with  the 
age  of  seven  centuries,  was  then  fresh  from  the  hands 
of  its  founder,  Lanfranc.  Whether  it  had  yet  obtained 
the  relic  of  the  saint  —  the  upper  leather  of  his  shoe, 
which  Erasmus  saw,  and  which  it  is  said  remained  in 
the  almshouse  almost  down  to  our  own  day  —  does  not 
appear ;  but  he  halted  there,  as  was  the  wont  of  all 
pilgrims,  and  made  a  gift  of  forty  marks  to  the  lit¬ 
tle  church.  And  now,  as  he  climbed  the  steep  road 

1  Diceto,  573. 


140 


PENANCE  IN  THE  CRYPT. 


[1174. 


beyond  the  hospital  and  descended  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hill,  the  first  view  of  the  cathedral  burst  upon  him, 
rising,  not  indeed  in  its  present  proportions,  but  still 
with  its  three  towers  and  vast  front ;  and  he  leaped  off 
his  horse,  and  went  on  foot  through  a  road  turned  into 
puddles  by  the  recent  storms,1  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  Here,  at  St.  Dunstan’s  Church,2  he  paused  again, 
entered  the  edifice  with  the  prelates  who  were  present, 
stripped  off  his  ordinary  dress,  and  walked  through  the 
streets  in  the  guise  of  a  penitent  pilgrim,  —  barefoot, 
and  with  no  other  covering  than  a  woollen  shirt,  and  a 
cloak  thrown  over  it  to  keep  off  rain.3 

So,  amidst  a  wondering  crowd,  —  the  rough  stones  of 
the  streets  marked  with  the  blood  that  started  from 
his  feet,  —  he  reached  the  cathedral.  There  he  knelt, 
as  at  Avranches,  in  the  porch,  then  entered  the  church, 
and  went  straight  to  the  scene  of  the  murder  in  the 
north  transept.  Here  he  knelt  again,  and  kissed  the 
sacred  stone  on  which  the  Archbishop  had  fallen,' 
the  prelates  standing  round  to  receive  his  confession. 
Thence  he  was  conducted  to  the  crypt,  where  he  again 
knelt,  and  with  groans  and  tears  kissed  the  tomb  and 
remained  long  in  prayer.  At  this  stage  of  the  solem¬ 
nity  Gilbert  Foliot,  Bishop  of  London,  —  the  ancient 
opponent  and  rival  of  Becket,  —  addressed  the  monks 
and  bystanders,  announcing  to  them  the  king’s  peni¬ 
tence  for  having  by  his  rash  words  unwittingly  occa¬ 
sioned  the  perpetration  of  a  crime  of  which  he  him¬ 
self  was  innocent,  and  his  intention  of  restoring  the 
rights  and  property  of  the  church,  and  bestowing  forty 
marks  yearly  on  the  monastery  to  keep  lamps  burning 

1  Trivet,  104  ;  Robert  of  Mont  S.  Michel.  (Appendix  to  Sigebert 
in  Perthes,  vol.  vi.) 

2  Grim,  86. 


3  Gamier,  78,  29.  He  was  present. 


PENANCE  IN  THE  CRYPT. 


141 


il74.] 

constantly  at  the  martyrs  tomb.1  The  king  ratified 
all  that  the  bishop  had  said,  requested  absolution,  and 
received  a  kiss  of  reconciliation  from  the  prior.  He 
knelt  again  at  the  tomb,  removed  the  rough  cloak 
which  had  been  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  but  still 


THE  CRYPT,  CANTERBURY  CATHEDRAL. 


retained  the  woollen  shirt  to  hide  the  haircloth,2  which 
was  visible  to  near  observation,  next  his  skin,  placed 
his  head  and  shoulders  in  the  tomb,  and  there  received 
five  strokes  from  each  bishop  and  abbot  who  was 
present,  beginning  with  Foliot,  who  stood  by  with  the 
“  balai,”  or  monastic  rod,  in  his  hand,3  and  three  from 

1  Gamier,  80,  9. 

2  Newburgh  alone  (1181)  represents  the  penance  as  having  taken 
place  in  the  chapter-house,  doubtless  as  the  usual  place  for  discipline. 
The  part  surrounding  the  tomb  was  superseded  in  the  next  generation 
by  the  circular  vault  which  now  supports  the  Trinity  Chapel.  But 
the  architecture  must  have  been  like  what  is  now  seen  in  the  western 
portion  of  the  crypt. 

3  Grim,  86.  “  A  lively  representation  of  Henry’s  penance  is  to  be 
seen  in  Carter’s  Ancient  Sculpture  and  Painting  (p.  50).  The  king  is 


142 


ABSOLUTION. 


[1174. 


each  of  the  eighty  monks.  Fully  absolved,  he  resumed 
his  clothes,  but  was  still  left  in  the  crypt,  resting 
against  one  of  the  rude  Norman  pillars,1  on  the  bare 
ground,  with  bare  feet 2  still  unwashed  from  the  muddy 
streets,  and  passed  the  whole  night  fasting.  At  early 
matins  he  rose  and  went  round  the  altars  and  shrines 
of  the  upper  church,  then  returned  to  the  tomb,  and 
finally,  after  hearing  Mass,  drank  of  the  Martyr’s  well, 
and  carried  off  one  of  the  usual  phials  of  Canterbury 
pilgrims,  containing  water  mixed  with  the  blood,  and 
so  rode  to  London.3 

So  deep  a  humiliation  of  so  great  a  prince  was  un¬ 
paralleled  within  the  memory  of  that  generation.  The 
submission  of  Theodosius  to  Ambrose,  of  Louis  le  De- 
bonnaire  at  Soissons,  of  Otho  III.  at  Eavenna,  of  Edgar 
to  Dunstan,  of  the  Emperor  Henry  IV.  to  Gregory 
VII.,  were  only  known  as  matters  of  history.  It  is 
not  surprising  that  the  usual  figure  of  speech  by  which 
the  chroniclers  express  it  should  be,  —  “  the  moun¬ 
tains  trembled  at  the  presence  of  the  Lord,”  —  “  the 
mountain  of  Canterbury  smoked  before  Him  who 
touches  the  hills  and  they  smoke.” 4  The  auspicious 
consequences  were  supposed  to  be  immediate.  The 
king  had  arrived  in  London  on  Sunday,  and  was  so 


represented  as  kneeling,  crowned  but  almost  naked,  before  the  sbrine. 
Two  great  officers,  one  bearing  the  sword  of  State,  stand  behind  him. 
The  monks  in  their  black  Benedictine  robes  are  defiling  round  the 
shrine,  each  with  a  large  rod  in  his  hand  approaching  the  bare  shoul¬ 
ders  of  the  king.  A  good  notion  of  this  ceremony  of  the  scourging  is 
conveyed  by  the  elaborate  formalities  with  which  it  was  nominally, 
and  probably  for  the  last  time,  exercised  by  Pope  Julius  II.  and  the 
Cardinals  on  the  Venetian  Deputies  in  1509.”  —  Sketches  of  Venetian 
History,  c.  16. 

1  Gamier,  80,  29.  2  Diceto,  575. 

3  See  Note  A.  to  the  Essay  on  “  Becket’s  Shrine.” 

4  Grim,  86. 


['74.]  COUNT  RALPH  OF  GLANV1LLE.  143 

completely  exhausted  by  the  effects  of  the  long  day 
and  night  at  Canterbury,  that  he  was  seized  with  a 
dangerous  fever.  On  the  following  Thursday,1  at  mid¬ 
night,  the  guards  were  roused  by  a  violent  knocking  at 
the  gates.  The  messenger,  who  announced  that  he 
brought  good  tidings,  was  reluctantly  admitted  into 
the  king’s  bedroom.  The  king,  starting  from  his  sleep, 
said,  “  Who  art  thou  ?  ”  “  I  am  the  servant  of  your 

faithful  Count  Ralph  of  Glanville,”  was  the  answer, 
“  and  I  come  to  bring  you  good  tidings.”  “  Is  our  good 
Ralph  well  ?  ”  asked  the  king.  “  He  is  well,”  answered 
the  servant,  “  and  he  has  taken  your  enemy,  the  King 
of  the  Scots,  prisoner  at  Richmond.”  The  king  was 
thunderstruck ;  the  servant  repeated  his  message,  and 
produced  the  letters  confirming  it.2  The  king  leaped 
from  his  bed,  and  returned  thanks  to  God  and  Saint 
Thomas.  The  victory  over  William  the  Lion  had  taken 
place  on  the  very  Saturday  on  which  he  had  left  Can¬ 
terbury,  after  having  made  3  his  peace  with  the  martyr. 
On  that  same  Saturday  the  fleet  with  which  his  son 
had  intended  to  invade  England  from  Flanders4  was 
driven  back.  It  was  in  the  enthusiasm  of  this  crisis 
that  Tracy,  as  it  would  seem,  presented  to  the  king 
the  bequest  of  his  manor  of  Daccombe  to  the  monks  of 
Canterbury,  which  accordingly  received  then  and  there, 
at  Westminster,  the  royal  confirmation.5  Once  more, 
so  far  as  we  know,  the  penitent  king  and  the  penitent 
knight  met,  in  the  December  of  that  same  year,  when, 

1  Gervase’s  Chronicle,  1427. 

2  Brompton,  1095.  The  effect  of  this  story  is  heightened  by  Gau- 
fridus  Yosiensis  (Script.  Rer.  Franc.,  443),  who  speaks  of  the  an¬ 
nouncement  as  taking  place  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  after  Mass  was 
finished. 

3  Brompton,  1096.  4  Matt.  Paris,  130. 

5  See  Appendix  to  “  Becket’s  Shrine.” 


144 


CONCLUSION. 


in  the  fortress  of  Falaise,  the  captured  king  of  Scotland 
did  homage  to  his  conqueror;  Tracy  standing,  as  of  old, 
by  his  master’s  side,  but  now  in  the  high  position  of 
Justiciary  of  Normandy.  Nor  did  the  association  of 
his  capture  with  the  Martyr’s  power  pass  away  from 
the  mind  of  William  the  Lion.  He,  doubtless  in  recol¬ 
lection  of  these  scenes,  reared  on  his  return  to  Scotland 
the  stately  abbey  of  Aberbrothock,  to  the  memory  of 
Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury. 

Thus  ended  this  great  tragedy.  Its  effects  on  the 
constitution  of  the  country  and  on  the  religious  feeling 
not  only  of  England  but  of  Europe,  would  open  too  large 
a  field.  It  is  enough  if,  from  the  narrative  we  have 
given,  a  clearer  notion  can  be  formed  of  that  remark¬ 
able  event  than  is  to  be  derived  from  the  works  either 
of  his  professed  apologists  or  professed  opponents,  —  if 
the  scene  can  be  more  fully  realized,  the  localities  more 
accurately  identified,  the  man  and  his  age  more  clearly 
understood.  If  there  be  any  who  still  regard  Becket 
as  an  ambitious  and  unprincipled  traitor,  plotting  for 
his  own  aggrandizement  against  the  welfare  of  the  mon¬ 
archy,  they  will  perhaps  be  induced,  by  the  accounts 
of  his  last  moments,  to  grant  to  him  the  honor,  if  not 
of  a  martyr,  at  least  of  an  honest  and  courageous  man, 
and  to  believe  that  such  restraints  as  the  religious  awe 
of  high  character  or  of  sacred  place  and  office,  laid  on 
men  like  Henry  and  his  courtiers,  are  not  to  be  despised 
in  any  age,  and  in  that  lawless  and  cruel  time  were  al¬ 
most  the  only  safeguards  of  life  and  property.  If  there 
be  any  who  are  glad  to  welcome  or  stimulate  attacks, 
however  unmeasured  in  language  or  unjust  in  fact, 
against  bishops  and  clergy,  whether  Boman  Catholic  or 
Protestant,  in  the  hope  of  securing  the  interests  of  Chris¬ 
tian  liberty  against  priestly  tyranny,  they  may  take  warm 


CONCLUSION. 


145 


ing  by  the  reflection  that  the  greatest  impulse  ever  given 
in  this  country  to  the  cause  of  sacerdotal  independence 
was  the  reaction  produced  by  the  horror  consequent  on 
the  deed  of  Fitzurse  and  Tracy.  Those,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  in  the  curious  change  of  feeling  that  has 
come  over  our  age  are  inclined  to  the  ancient  reverence 
for  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury  as  the  meek  and  gentle 
saint  of  holier  and  happier  times  than  our  own,  may 
perhaps  be  led  to  modify  their  judgment  by  the  descrip¬ 
tion,  taken  not  from  his  enemies  but  from  his  admiring 
followers,  of  the  violence,  the  obstinacy,  the  furious 
words  and  acts,  which  deformed  even  the  dignity  of 
his  last  hour,  and  wellnigh  turned  the  solemnity  of  his 
“  martyrdom  ”  into  an  unseemly  brawl.  They  may 
learn  to  see  in  the  brutal  conduct  of  the  assassins,  in 
the  abject  cowardice  of  the  monks,  in  the  savage  mor¬ 
tifications  and  the  fierce  passions  of  Becket  himself, 
how  little  ground  there  is  for  that  paradise  of  faith 
and  love  which  some  modern  writers  find  for  us  in  the 
age  of  the  Plantagenet  kings.1  And  for  those  who  be¬ 
lieve  that  an  indiscriminate  maintenance  of  ecclesiasti¬ 
cal  claims  is  the  best  service  they  can  render  to  God 
and  the  Church,  and  that  opposition  to  the  powers  that 

1  One  of  the  ablest  of  Becket’s  recent  apologists  (Ozanam,  Les  deux 
Chanceliers),  who  combines  with  his  veneration  for  the  Archbishop  that 
singular  admiration  which  almost  all  continental  Catholics  entertain 
for  the  late  “Liberator”  of  Ireland,  declares  that  on  O’Connell,  if  on 
any  character  of  this  age,  the  mantle  of  the  saint  and  martyr  has  de¬ 
scended.  Perhaps  the  readers  of  our  narrative  will  think  that,  in  some 
respects,  the  comparison  of  the  Frenchman  is  true  in  another  sense 
than  that  in  which  he  intended  it.  So  fixed  an  idea  has  the  similarity 
become  in  the  minds  of  foreign  Eoman  Catholics,  that  in  a  popular 
life  of  Saint  Thomas,  published  as  one  of  a  series  at  Prague,  under  the 
authority  of  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne,  the  concluding  moral  is  an 
appeal  to  the  example  of  “  the  most  glorious  of  laymen,”  as  Pope 
Gregory  XVI.  called  Daniel  O’Connell,  who  as  a  second  Thomas 
strove  and  suffered  for  the  liberties  of  his  country  and  his  church. 

10 


146 


CONCLUSION. 


be  is  enough  to  entitle  a  bishop  to  the  honors  of  a  saint 
and  a  hero,  it  may  not  be  without  instruction  to  remem¬ 
ber  that  the  Constitutions  of  Clarendon,  which  Becket 
spent  his  life  in  opposing,  and  of  which  his  death  pro¬ 
cured  the  suspension,  are  now  incorporated  in  the  Eng¬ 
lish  law^,  and  are  regarded,  without  a  dissentient  voice, 
as  among  the  wisest  and  most  necessary  of  English  in¬ 
stitutions  ;  that  the  especial  point  for  which  he  surren¬ 
dered  his  life  was  not  the  independence  of  the  clergy 
from  the  encroachments  of  the  crown,  but  the  personal 
and  now  forgotten  question  of  the  superiority  of  the  See 
of  Canterbury  to  the  See  of  York.1  Finally,  we  must 
all  remember  that  the  wretched  superstitions  which 
gathered  round  the  shrine  of  Saint  Thomas  ended  by 
completely  alienating  the  affections  of  thinking  men 
from  his  memory,  and  rendering  the  name  of  Becket  a 
byword  of  reproach  as  little  proportioned  to  his  real 
deserts  as  had  been  the  reckless  veneration  paid  to  it 
by  his  worshippers  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

1  “  Hsec  fuit  vera  et  Ulrica  causa  aut  occasio  necis  S.  Thomse.”  — 
Goussainyille,  in  Peter  of  Blois,  ep.  22  (see  Robertson,  p.  200). 
Compare  Memorials  of  Westminster,  chap.  ii.  and  chap.  v. 


EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


I 


This  lecture,  it  will  be  seen,  dwells  almost  entirely  upon  those  points 
which  give  an  interest  to  the  tomb  at  Canterbury.  For  any  general 
view  of  the  subject,  the  reader  must  go  to  Froissart,  or  to  the  biog¬ 
raphies  of  Barnes  and  James  ;  for  any  further  details,  to  the  excellent 
essays  in  the  20th,  22d,  28th,  and  32d  volumes  of  the  “Archaeologia,” 
and  to  the  contemporary  metrical  life  by  Chandos,  to  which  reference 
i?  made  in  the  course  of  the  lecture.  The  Ordinance  founding  his 
Chantry,  and  the  Will  which  regulated  his  funeral  and  the  erection  of 
his  tomb,  are  printed  at  the  end,  with  notes  by  Mr.  Albert  Way. 


EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


Lecture  delivered  at  Canterbury,  J une,  1852. 

EVERY  one  who  has  endeavored  to  study  history 
must  be  struck  by  the  advantage  which  those  enjoy 
who  live  within  the  neighborhood  of  great  historical 
monuments.  To  have  seen  the  place  where  a  great 
event  happened;  to  have  seen  the  picture,  the  statue, 
the  tomb,  of  an  illustrious  man,  —  is  the  next  thing  to 
being  present  at  the  event  in  person,  to  seeing  the  scene 
with  our  own  eyes.  In  this  respect  few  spots  in  Eng¬ 
land  are  more  highly  favored  than  Canterbury.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  if  any  one  were  to  go  through 
the  various  spots  of  interest  in  or  around  our  great 
cathedral,  and  ask  what  happened  here,  —  who  was 
the  man  whose  tomb  we  see,  —  why  was  he  buried 
here,  —  what  effect  did  his  life  or  his  death  have  on 
the  world,  —  a  real  knowledge  of  the  history  of  Eng¬ 
land  would  be  obtained,  such  as  the  mere  reading  of 
books  or  hearing  of  lectures  would  utterly  fail  to  sup¬ 
ply.  And  it  is  my  hope  that  by  lectures  of  this  kind 
you  will  be  led  to  acquire  this  knowledge  for  yourselves 
far  more  effectually  than  by  hearing  anything  which  the 
lectures  themselves  convey,  —  and  you  will  have  thus 
gained  not  only  knowledge,  but  interest  and  amuse¬ 
ment  in  the  sight  of  what  now  seem  to  be  mere  stones 


150  HISTORICAL  LESSON  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL. 


or  bare  walls,  but  wbat  would  then  be  so  many  chap¬ 
ters  of  English  history,  so  many  portraits  and  pictures 
of  famous  men  and  famous  events  in  the  successive 
ages  of  the  world. 

Let  me,  before  I  begin  my  immediate  subject,  show 
you  very  briefly  how  this  may  be  done.  First,  if  any 
one  asks  why  Canterbury  is  what  it  is,  — why  from 
this  small  town  the  first  subject  in  this  great  kingdom 
takes  his  title,  —  why  we  have  any  cathedral  at  all,  — 
the  answer  is  to  be  found  in  that  great  -event,  the  most 
important  that  has  ever  occurred  in  English  history, — 
the  conversion  of  Ethelbert,  King  of  Kent,  by  the  first 
missionary,  Augustine.  And  if  you  would  understand 
this,  it  will  lead  you  to  make  out  for  yourselves  the 
history  of  the  Saxon  kings,  —  who  they  were,  whence 
they  came,  —  and  who  Augustine  was,  why  he  came,  — 
and  what  was  the  city  of  Koine,  whence  he  was  sent 
forth.  And  then  if  you  enter  the  cathedral,  you  will 
find  in  the  tombs  which  lie  within  its  walls  remem¬ 
brances  of  almost  every  reign  in  the  history  of  England. 
Augustine  and  the  first  seven  Archbishops  are  buried 
at  St.  Augustine’s ;  but  from  that  time  to  the  Reforma¬ 
tion  they  have,  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  been  buried 
in  the  cathedral,  and  even  where  no  tombs  are  left,  the 
places  where  they  were  buried  are  for  the  most  part 
known.  And  the  Archbishops  being  at  that  time  not 
only  the  chief  ecclesiastics,  but  also  the  chief  officers  of 
State  in  the  kingdom,  their  graves  tell  you  not  merely 
the  history  of  the  English  clergy,  but  also  of  the  whole 
Commonwealth  and  State  of  England  besides.  It  is 
for  this  reason  that  there  is  no  church,  no  place  in  the 
kingdom,  with  the  exception  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
that  is  so  closely  connected  with  the  general  history  of 
our  common  country.  The  kings  before  the  Keforma- 


THE  TOMBS. 


151 


tion  are  for  the  most  part  in  the  Abbey ;  but  their 
prime  ministers,  so  to  speak,  are  for  the  most  part  in 
Canterbury  Cathedral.1 

Ask  who  it  was  that  first  laid  out  the  monastery, 
and  who  it  was  that  laid  the  foundations  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  as  it  now  stands,  and  you  will  find  that  it  was 
Lanfranc,  the  new  Archbishop  whom  William  the  Con¬ 
queror  brought  over  with  him  from  Normandy,  and  who 
thus  re-established  the  old  church  with  his  Norman 
workmen.  Then  look  at  the  venerable  tower  on  the 
south  side  of  the  cathedral,  and  ask  who  lies  buried 
within,  and  from  whom  it  takes  its  name,  and  you  will 
find  yourself  with  Anselm,  the  wise  counsellor  of  Wil¬ 
liam  Rufus  and  Henry  I.,  —  Anselm,  the  great  theolo¬ 
gian,  who  of  all  the  primates  of  the  See  of  Canterbury 
is  the  best  known  by  his  life  and  writings  throughout 
the  world.  And  then  we  come  to  the  most  remarkable 
event  that  has  happened  at  Canterbury  since  the  arri¬ 
val  of  Augustine,  and  of  which  the  effect  may  be  traced 
not  in  one  part  only,  but  almost  through  every  stone  in 
the  cathedral,  —  the  murder  of  Becket ;  followed  by  the 
penance  of  Henry  II.  and  the  long  succession  of  Canter¬ 
bury  pilgrims.  Then,  in  the  south  aisle,  the  effigy  of 
Hubert  Walter  brings  before  us  the  camp  of  the  Cru¬ 
saders  at  Acre,  where  he  was  appointed  Archbishop  by 
Richard  I.  Next  look  at  that  simple  tomb  in  St.  Mi¬ 
chael’s  Chapel,  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  church,  and 
you  will  be  brought  to  the  time  of  King  John ;  for  it  is 
the  grave  of  Stephen  Langton,  who  more  than  any  one 

1  See  Archbishop  Parker’s  record,  compendiously  given  in  Profes¬ 
sor  Willis’s  History  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  pp.  13,  134.  I  cannot 
forbear  to  express  a  hope  that  this  series  of  illustrious  tombs  will  not 
be  needlessly  cut  short  for  all  future  generations  by  the  recent  enact¬ 
ment  forbidding  the  interment  even  of  our  Archbishops  within  their 
own  cathedrals. 


152  BIRTH  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE.  [1330. 

man  won  for  ns  the  Magna  Charta.  Then  look  back  at 
the  north  transept,  at  the  wooden  statue  that  lies  in  the 
corner.  That  is  the  grave  of  Archbishop  Peckham,  in 
the  reign  of  King  Edward  I. ;  and  close  beside  that  spot 
King  Edward  I.  was  married.  And  now  we  come  to 
the  time  at  which  the  subject  of  my  lecture  begins,  the 
reign  of  King  Edward  III.  And  so  we  might  pass  on 
to  Archbishop  Sudbury,  who  lost  his  head  in  the  reign 
of  Eichard  II.;  to  Henry  IV.,  who  lies  there  himself; 
to  Chichele,  who  takes  us  on  to  Henry  V.  and  Henry 
VI. ;  to  Morton,  who  reminds  us  of  Henry  VII.  and  Sir 
Thomas  More  ;  to  Warham,  the  friend  of  Erasmus,  pre¬ 
decessor  of  Archbishop  Cranmer;  and  then  to  the  sub¬ 
sequent  troubles  —  of  which  the  cathedral  still  bears 
the  marks  —  in  the  Reformation  and  the  Civil  Wars. 

On  some  future  occasion,  perhaps,  I  may  be  permitted 
to  speak  of  the  more  important  of  these,  as  opportunity 
may  occur.  But  for  the  present  let  us  leave  the  Pri¬ 
mates  of  Canterbury,  and  turn  to  our  especial  subject. 
Let  us  place  ourselves  in  imagination  by  the  tomb  of  the 
most  illustrious  layman  who  rests  among  us,  Edward 
Plantagenet,  Prince  of  Wales,  commonly  called  the  Black 
Prince.  Let  us  ask  whose  likeness  is  it  that  we  there  see 
stretched  before  us,  —  why  was  he  buried  in  this  place, 
amongst  the  Archbishops  and  sacred  shrines  of  former 
times, — what  can  we  learn  from  his  life  or  his  death  ? 

[1330.]  A  few  words  must  first  be  given  to  his  birth 
and  childhood.  He  was  born  on  the  15th  of  June,  1330, 
at  the  old  palace  of  Woodstock,  near  Oxford,  from  which 
he  was  sometimes  called  Prince  Edward  of  Woodstock.1 
He  was,  you  will  remember,  the  eldest  son  of  King  Ed¬ 
ward  III.  and  Queen  Philippa,  —  a  point  always  to  be 
remembered  in  his  history,  because,  like  Alexander  the 
1  ArchEeologia,  xxii.  227. 


1342.]  EDUCATION  AT  QUEEN’S  COLLEGE. 


153 


Great,  and  a  few  other  eminent  instances,  he  is  one  of 
those  men  in  whom  the  peculiar  qualities  both  of  his 
father  and  of  his  mother  were  equally  exemplified. 
Every  one  knows  the  story  of  the  siege  of  Calais,  of 
the  sternness  of  King  Edward  and  the  gentleness  of 
Queen  Philippa ;  and  it  is  the  union  of  these  qualities 
in  their  son  which  gave  him  the  exact  place  which  he 
occupies  in  the  succession  of  our  English  princes  and 
in  the  history  of  Europe. 

We  always  like  to  know  where  a  famous  man  was 
educated.  And  here  we  know  the  place,  and  also  see  the 
reason  why  it  was  chosen.  Any  of  you  who  have  been 
at  Oxford  will  remember  the  long  line  of  buildings  which 
overlook  the  beautiful  curve  of  High  Street, —  the  build¬ 
ings  of  “  Queen’s  College,”  the  College  of  the  Queen.  At 
the  time  of  which  I  speak,  that  college  was  the  great¬ 
est,  —  two  others  only  in  any  regular  collegiate  form  ex¬ 
isted  in  Oxford.  It  had  hut  just  been  founded  by  the 
chaplain  of  Queen  Philippa,  and  took  its  name  from  her. 
There  it  was  that,  according  to  tradition,  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  her  son,  —  as  in  the  next  generation,  Henry  V., 
—  was  brought  up.  [1342.]  If  we  look  at  the  events 
which  followed,  he  could  hardly  have  been  twelve  years 
old  when  he  went.  But  there  were  then  no  schools  in 
England,  and  their  place  was  almost  entirely  supplied 
by  the  universities.  Queen’s  College  is  much  altered 
in  every  way  since  the  little  Prince  went  there ;  hut 
they  still  keep  an  engraving  of  the  vaulted  room,  which 
he  is  said  to  have  occupied ; 1  and  though  most  of  the 
old  customs  which  prevailed  in  the  college,  and  which 
made  it  a  very  peculiar  place  even  then,  have  long  since 
disappeared,  some  which  are  mentioned  by  the  founder, 
and  which  therefore  must  have  been  in  use  when  the 

1  It  now  hangs  in  the  gallery  above  the  hall  of  Queen’s  College. 


154 


EDUCATION  AT  QUEEN’S  COLLEGE. 


[1342. 


Prince  was  there,  still  continue.  You  may  still  hear 
the  students  summoned  to  dinner,  as  he  was,  by  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet ;  and  in  the  hall  you  may  still  see, 
as  he  saw,  the  Fellows  sitting  all  on  one  side  of  the 
table,  with  the  Head  of  the  college  in  the  centre,  in 
imitation  of  the  “  Last  Supper,”  as  it  is  commonly  rep¬ 
resented  in  pictures.1  The  very  names  of  the  Head 
and  the  twelve  Fellows  (the  number  first  appointed  by 
the  founder,  in  likeness  of  our  Lord  and  the  Apostles), 
who  were  presiding  over  the  college  when  the  Prince 
was  there,  are  known  to  us.2  He  must  have  seen  —  what 
has  long  since  vanished  away  —  the  thirteen  beggars, 
deaf,  dumb,  maimed,  or  blind,  daily  brought  into  the 
hall  to  receive  their  dole  of  bread,  beer,  pottage,  and 
fish.3  He  must  have  seen  the  seventy  poor  scholars, 
instituted  after  the  example  of  the  seventy  disciples, 
and  learning  from  their  two  chaplains  to  chant  the  ser¬ 
vice.4  He  must  have  heard  the  mill  within  or  hard  by 
the  college  walls  grinding  the  Fellows’  bread.  He  must 
have  seen  the  porter  of  the  college  going  round  the 
rooms  betimes  in  the  morning  to  shave  the  beards  and 
wash  thq  heads  of  the  Fellows.5  In  these  and  many 
other  curious  particulars,  we  can  tell  exactly  what  the 
customs  and  appearance  of  the  college  were  when  the 
Prince  was  there.  It  is  more  difficult  to  answer  another 
question,  which  we  always  wish  to  know  about  famous 
men,  —  Who  were  his  companions  ?  An  old  tradition 
(unfortunately  beset  with  doubts)  points  to  one  youth 
at  that  time  in  Oxford,  and  at  Queen’s  College,6  whom 

1  Statutes  of  Queen’s  College,  p.  11. 

2  Ibid,,  pp.  9,  33.  3  Ibid.,  p.  30.  4  Ibid.,  p.  27. 

5  Ibid.,  pp.  28,  29. 

6  For  the  doubts  respecting  the  tradition  of  the  Black  Prince  and 

of  Wycliffe  at  Queen’s  College,  see  Appendix. 


1346.] 


BATTLE  OF  CRESSY. 


155 


we  shall  all  recognize  as  an  old  acquaintance,  —  John 
Wycliffe,  the  first  English  Reformer,  and  the  first  trans¬ 
lator  of  the  Bible  into  English.  He  would  have  been 
a  poor  boy,  in  a  threadbare  coat,1  and  devoted  to  study, 
and  the  Prince  probably  never  exchanged  looks  or  words 
with  him.  But  we  shall  be  glad  to  be  allowed  to  believe 
that  once  at  least  in  their  lives  the  great  soldier  of  the 
age  had  crossed  the  path  of  the  great  Reformer.  Each 
thought  and  cared  little  for  the  other ;  their  characters 
and  pursuits  and  sympathies  were  as  different  as  were 
their  stations  in  life.  Let  us  be  thankful  if  we  have 
learned  to  understand  them  both,  and  see  what  was 
good  in  each,  far  better  than  they  did  themselves. 

We  now  pass  to  the  next  events  of  his  life ;  those 
which  have  really  made  him  almost  as  famous  in  war 
as  Wycliffe  has  been  in  peace,  —  the  two  great  battles 
of  Cressy  and  of  Poitiers.  I  will  not  now  go  into  the 
origin  of  the  war  of  which  these  two  battles  formed 
the  turning-points  It  is  enough  for  us  to  remem¬ 
ber  that  it  was  undertaken  by  Edward  III.  to  gain  the 
crown  of  France,  —  a  claim,  through  his  mother,  which 
he  had  solemnly  relinquished,  but  which  he  now  re¬ 
sumed  to  satisfy  the  scruples  of  his  allies,  the  citizens 
of  Ghent,  who  thought  that  their  oath  of  allegiance 
to  the  “King  of  France”  would  be  redeemed  if  their 
leader  did  but  bear  the  name. 

[1346.]  And  now  first  for  Cressy.  I  shall  not  un¬ 
dertake  to  describe  the  whole  fight,  but  will  call  your 
attention  briefly  to  the  questions  which  every  one  ought 
to  ask  himself,  if  he  wishes  to  understand  anything 
about  any  battle  whatever.  First,  Where  was  it  fought  ? 
secondly,  Why  was  it  fought  ?  thirdly,  How  was  it  won  ? 
and  fourthly,  What  was  the  result  of  it  ?  And  to  this 
1  See  Chaucer’s  description  of  the  Oxford  Clerk. 


156 


BATTLE  OF  CRESSY. 


[1346. 


I  must  add,  in  the  present  instance.  What  part  was 
taken  in  it  by  the  Prince,  whom  we  left  as  a  little  boy 
at  Oxford,  but  who  was  now  following  his  father  as  a 
young  knight  in  his  first  great  campaign  ?  The  first 
of  these  questions  involves  the  second  also.  If  we 
make  out  where  a  battle  was  fought,  this  usually  tells 
us  why  it  was  fought;  and  this  is  one  of  the  many 
proofs  of  the  use  of  learning  geography  together  with 
history.  Each  helps  us  to  understand  the  other.  Ed¬ 
ward  had  ravaged  Normandy  and  reached  the  very 
gates  of  Paris,  and  was  retreating  towards  Elanders 
when  he  was  overtaken  by  the  French  king,  Philip, 
who  with  an  immense  army  had  determined  to  cut 
him  off  entirely,  and  so  put  an  end  to  the  war.1  With 
difficulty  and  by  the  happy  accident  of  a  low  tide,  he 
crossed  the  mouth  of  the  Somme,  and  found  himself 
in  his  own  maternal  inheritance  of  Ponthieu,  and  for 
that  special  reason  encamped  near  the  forest  of  Cressy, 
fifteen  miles  east  of  Abbeville :  “I  am,”  he  said,  “  on 
the  right  heritage  of  Madam  my  mother,  which  was 
given  her  in  dowry ;  I  will  defend  it  against  my  adver¬ 
sary,  Philip  of  Valois.”  It  was  Saturday,  the  28th  of 
August,  1346,  and  it  was  at  four  in  the  afternoon  that 

1  See  the  interesting  details  of  the  battle,  in  “  Archaeologia,”  vol. 
xxviii.,  taken  from  records  in  the  Town  Hall  at  Abbeville.  The  scene 
of  the  battle  has  been  the  subject  of  much  controversy.  An  able  though 
prejudiced  attack  on  the  traditional  field  is  contained  in  a  Memoir  on 
the  subject  by  M.  Ambert,  a  French  officer  (Spectateur  Militaire,  1845, 
Paris,  Rue  Jacob,  30),  which  has  been  in  turn  impugned,  as  it  seems 
to  me  with  good  reason,  in  the  third  edition  of  M.  Seymour  de  Con¬ 
stant’s  Essay  on  the  same  subject.  It  is  possible  that  the  local  tradi¬ 
tions  may  be  groundless,  but  I  never  saw  any  place  (out  of  Scotland) 
where  the  recollection  of  a  past  event  had  struck  such  root  in  the 
minds  of  the  peasantry.  M.  Ambert  represents  the  event,  not  as  a 
battle,  but  as  “un  accident  social,”  “un  evenement  politique  et  social,” 
“  un  choc,”  “  une  crise  revolutionnaire.” 


1346.J 


BATTLE  OF  CRESS  A. 


157 


the  battle  commenced.  It  always  helps  us  better  to 
imagine  any  remarkable  event,  when  we  know  at  what 
time  of  the  day  or  night  it  took  place  ;  and  on  this 
occasion  it  is  of  great  importance,  because  it  helps  us 
at  once  to  answer  the  third  question  we  asked,  —  How 
was  the  battle  won  ?  The  French  army  had  advanced 
from  Abbeville  after  a  hard  day’s  march  to  overtake 
the  retiring  enemy.  All  along  the  road,  and  flooding 
the  hedgeless  plains  which  bordered  the  road,  the 
army,  swelled  by  the  surrounding  peasantry,  rolled 
along,  crying,  “Kill!  kill!”  drawing  their  swords  and 
thinking  that  they  were  sure  of  their  prey.  What  the 
French  King  chiefly  relied  upon  (besides  his  great 
numbers)  was  the  troop  of  fifteen  thousand  cross-bow¬ 
men  from  Genoa.  These  were  made  to  stand  in  front  ; 
when,  just  as  the  engagement  was  about  to  take  place, 
one  of  those  extraordinary  incidents  occurred,  which 
often  turn  the  fate  of  battles,  as  they  do  of  human  life 
in  general.  A  tremendous  storm  gathered  from  the 
west,  and  broke  in  thunder  and  rain  and  hail  on  the 
field  of  battle.  The  sky  was  darkened,  and  the  horror 
was  increased  by  the  hoarse  cries  of  crows  and  ra¬ 
vens,  which  fluttered  before  the  storm,  and  struck  terror 
into  the  hearts  of  the  Italian  bowmen,  who  were  un¬ 
accustomed  to  these  northern  tempests.  And  when  at 
last  the  sky  had  cleared,  and  they  prepared  their  cross- 
bows  to  shoot,  the  strings  had  been  so  wet  by  the  rain 
that  they  could  not  draw  them.  By  this  time  the 
evening  sun  streamed  out  in  full  splendor1  over  the 
black  clouds  of  the  western  sky,  —  right  in  their  faces  ; 
and  at  the  same  moment  the  English  archers,  who  had 
kept  their  bows  in  cases  during  the  storm,  and  so  had 

1  “A  sun  issuing  from  a  cloud  was  the  badge  of  the  Black  Prince, 
probably  from  this  occurrence.” —  Archceologia,  xx.  106. 


158 


BATTLE  OF  CRESSY. 


[1346. 


their  strings  dry,  let  fly  their  arrows  so  fast  and  thick, 
that  those  who  were  present  could  only  compare  it  to 
snow  or  sleet.  Through  and  through  the  heads  and 
necks  and  hands  of  the  Genoese  bowmen  the  arrows 
pierced.  Unable  to  stand  it,  they  turned  and  fled ; 
and  from  that  moment  the  panic  and  confusion  was 
so  great  that  the  day  was  lost. 

But  though  the  storm  and  the  sun  and  the  archers 
had  their  part,  we  must  not  forget  the  Prince.  He 
was,  we  must  remember,  only  sixteen,  and  yet  he  com¬ 
manded  the  whole  English  army.  It  is  said  that  the 
reason  of  this  was  that  the  King  of  France  had  been 
so  bent  on  destroying  the  English  forces  that  he  had 
hoisted  the  sacred  banner  of  France  1 —  the  great  scar¬ 
let  flag,  embroidered  with  golden  lilies,  called  the  Ori- 
flamme  —  as  a  sign  that  no  quarter  would  be  given; 
and  that  when  King  Edward  saw  this,  and  saw  the 
hazard  to  which  he  should  expose  not  only  the  army, 
but  the  whole  kingdom,  if  he  were  to  fall  in  battle,  he 
determined  to  leave  it  to  his  son.  On  the  top  of  a 
windmill,  of  which  the  solid  tower  still  is  to  be  seen 
on  the  ridge  overhanging  the  field,  the  king,  for  what¬ 
ever  reason,  remained  bareheaded,  whilst  the  young 
Prince,  who  had  been  knighted  2  a  month  before,  went 
forward  with  his  companions  in  arms  into  the  very 
thick  of  the  fray ;  and  when  his  father  saw  that  the 
victory  was  virtually  gained,  he  forbore  to  interfere. 
“  Let  the  child  win  his  spurs,”  he  said,  in  words  which 
have  since  become  a  proverb,  “  and  let  the  day  be  his 
The  Prince  was  in  very  great  danger  at  one  moment ; 

1  The  Oriflamme  of  France,  like  the  green  Standard  of  the  Prophet 
in  the  Turkish  Empire,  had  the  effect  of  declaring  the  war  to  be  what 
was  called  a  “Holy  War,”  — that  is,  a  war  of  extermination. 

2  Archasologia,  xxxi.  3. 


:S46.J 


NAME  OF  “BLACK  PRINCE.’ 


159 


he  was  wounded  and  thrown  to  the  ground,  and 
only  saved  by  Eichard  de  Beaumont,  who  carried  the 
great  banner  of  Wales,  throwing  the  banner  over  the 
boy  as  he  lay  on  the  ground,  and  standing  upon  it  till 
he  had  driven  back  the  assailants.1  The  assailants 
were  driven  back,  and  far  through  the  long  summer 
evening  and  deep  into  the  summer  night  the  battle 
raged.  It  was  not  till  all  was  dark,  that  the  Prince 
and  his  companions  halted  from  their  pursuit;  and 
then  huge  fires  and  torches  were  lit  up,  that  the  king 
might  see  wThere  they  were.  And  then  took  place  the 
touching  interview  between  the  father  and  the  son  ;  the 
king  embracing  the  boy  in  front  of  the  whole  army, 
by  the  red  light  of  the  blazing  fires,  and  saying,  “  Sweet 
son,  God  give  you  good  'perseverance ;  you  are  my  true 
son ,  —  right  loyally  have  you  acquitted  yourself  this  day, 
and  worthy  are  you  of  a  crown”  And  the  young  Prince, 
after  the  reverential  manner  of  those  times,  “bowed 
to  the  ground,  and  gave  all  the  honor  to  the  king  his 
father.”  The  next  day  the  king  walked  over  the  field 
of  carnage  with  the  Prince,  and  said,  “  What  think  you 
of  a  battle  ?  Is  it  an  agreeable  game  ?”2 

The  general  result  of  the  battle  was  the  deliverance 
of  the  English  army  from  a  most  imminent  danger, 
and  subsequently  the  conquest  of  Calais,  which  the 
king  immediately  besieged  and  won,  and  which  re¬ 
mained  in  the  possession  of  the  English  from  that  day 
to  the  reign  of  Queen  Mary.  From  that  time  the 
Prince  became  the  darling  of  the  English  and  the  ter¬ 
ror  of  the  French;  and  whether  from  this  terror  or 
from  the  black  armor  which  he  wore  on  that  day,3 

1  Arehaeologia,  xxxviii.  184.  Ibid.,  187. 

3  The  king  dressed  his  son  before  the  battle  “  en  armure  noire  en 
fer  bruni.”  See  Louandre’s  Histoire  d'Abbeville,  p.  230. 


160 


BATTLE  OF  POITIERS. 


[1356. 


and  which  contrasted  with  the  fairness  of  his  com¬ 
plexion,  he  was  called  by  them  “Le  Prince  Noir”  (the 
Black  Prince),1  and  from  them  the  name  has  passed 
to  us  ;  so  that  all  his  other  sounding  titles,  by  which 
the  old  poems  call  him,  —  “Prince  of  Wales,  Duke  of 
Aquitaine,”  —  are  lost  in  the  one  memorable  name 
which  he  won  for  himself  in  his  first  fight  at  Cressy. 

[1356.]  And  now  we  pass  over  ten  years,  and  find 
him  on  the  field  of  Poitiers.  Again  we  must  ask, 
what  brought  him  there,  and  why  the  battle  was 
fought.  He  was  this  time  alone ;  his  father,  though 
the  war  had  rolled  on  since  the  battle  of  Gressy,  was  in 
England.  But  in  other  respects  the  beginning  of  the 
fight  was  very  like  that  of  Cressy.  Gascony  belonged 
to  him  by  right,  and  from  this  he  made  a  descent  into 
the  neighboring  provinces,  and  was  on  his  return  home, 
when  the  King  of  France  —  John,  the  son  of  Philip  — 
pursued  him  as  his  father  had  pursued  Edward  III., 
and  overtook  him  suddenly  on  the  high  upland  fields 
which  extended  for  many  miles  south  of  the  city  of 
Poitiers.  It  is  the  third  great  battle  which  has  been 
fought  in  that  neighborhood:  the  first  was  that  in 
which  Clovis  defeated  the  Goths,  and  established  the 
faith  in  the  creed  of  Athanasius  throughout  Europe ; 
the  second  was  that  in  which  Charles  Martel  drove 
hack  the  Saracens,  and  saved  Europe  from  Mahom¬ 
etanism  ;  the  third  was  this,  —  the  most  brilliant  of 
English  victories  over  the  French.2  The  spot,  which  is 

1  See  p.  177  ;  also  his  Will  (Appendix,  p.  197),  where  he  speaks  of  the 
black  drapery  of  his  “  hall,”  the  black  banners,  and  the  black  devices 
which  he  used  in  tournaments.  We  may  compare,  too,  the  black  pony 
upon  which  he  rode  on  his  famous  entry  into  London.  (Froissart.) 

2  The  battle  of  Clovis  is  believed  to  have  been  at  Voulon,  on  the 
road  to  Bordeaux  ;  that  of  Charles  Martel  is  uncertain.  These  three 
battles  (with  that  of  Moncontour,  fought  not  far  off,  in  1569,  after 


1356. J 


BATTLE  OF  POITIERS. 


161 


about  six  miles  south  of  Poitiers,  is  still  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Battle-field.  Its  features  are  very  slightly 
marked,  —  two  ridges  of  rising  ground,  parted  by  a  gen¬ 
tle  hollow ;  behind  the  highest  of  these  two  ridges  is 
a  large  tract  of  copse  and  underwood,  and  leading  up 
to  it  from  the  hollow  is  a  somewhat  steep  lane,  there 
shut  in  by  woods  and  vines  on  each  side.  It  was  on 
this  ridge  that  the  Prince  had  taken  up  his  position, 
and  it  was  solely  by  the  good  use  which  he  made  of 
this  position  that  the  victory  was  won.  The  Trench 
army  was  arranged  on  the  other  side  of  the  hollow  in 
three  great  divisions,  of  which  the  king’s  was  the  hind¬ 
most  ;  the  farm-house  which  marks  the  spot  where  this 
division  was  posted  is  visible  from  the  walls  of  Poitiers. 

It  was  on  Monday,  Sept.  19,  1356,  at  nine  A.  M.,  that 
the  battle  began.  All  the  Sunday  had  been  taken  up 
by  fruitless  endeavors  of  Cardinal  Talleyrand  to  save 
the  bloodshed  by  bringing  the  king  and  Prince  to 
terms,  —  a  fact  to  be  noticed  for  two  reasons  :  first,  be¬ 
cause  it  shows  the  sincere  and  Christian  desire  which 

the  siege  of  Poitiers,  by  Admiral  Coligny)  are  well  described  by  M.  S. 
Hippolyte,  in  a  number  of  the  “  Spectateur  Militaire.”  For  my  ac¬ 
quaintance  with  this  work,  as  well  as  for  any  details  which  follow 
relating  to  the  battle,  I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  and  courtesy 
of  M.  Foucart,  of  Poitiers,  in  whose  company  I  visited  the  field  of 
battle  in  the  summer  of  1851.  The  site  of  the  field  has  been  much 
contested  by  antiquaries,  but  now  appears  to  be  fixed  beyond  dispute. 
The  battle  is  said  to  have  been  fought  “  at  Maupertuis,  between 
Beauvoir  and  the  Abbey  of  Nouille.”  There  is  a  place  called  Mau¬ 
pertuis  near  a  village  Beauvoir,  on  the  north  of  Poitiers,  which  has 
led  some  to  transfer  the  battle  thither ;  but  besides  the  general  argu¬ 
ments,  both  from  tradition  and  from  the  probabilities  of  the  case  in 
favor  of  the  southern  site,  there  is  a  deed  in  the  municipal  archives 
of  Poitiers,  in  which  the  farm-house  now  called  La  Cardiniere  (from 
its  owner  Cardina,  to  whom  it  was  granted  by  Louis  XIV.,  like  many 
estates  in  the  neighborhood  called  from  their  owners)  is  said  to  be 
“  alias  Maupertuis.”  The  fine  Gothic  ruin  of  the  Abbey  of  Nouille 
also  remains,  a  quarter  of  an  hour’s  walk  from  the  field. 

11 


162  BATTLE  OF  POITIERS.  [1356^ 

animated  tlie  clergy  of  those  times,  in  the  midst  of  all 
their  faults,  to  promote  peace  and  good-will  amongst 
the  savage  men  with  whom  they  lived ;  and  secondly, 
because  the  refusal  of  the  French  King  and  Prince  to 
be  persuaded  shows,  on  this  occasion,  the  confidence  of 
victory  which  had  possessed  them. 

The  Prince  offered  to  give  up  all  the  castles  and 
prisoners  he  had  taken,  and  to  swear  not  to  fight  in 
France  again  for  seven  years.  But  the  king  would 
hear  of  nothing  but  his  absolute  surrender  of  himself 
and  his  army  on  the  spot.  The  Cardinal  labored  till 
the  very  last  moment,  and  then  rode  back  to  Poitiers, 
having  equally  offended  both  parties.  The  story  of  the 
battle,  if  we  remember  the  position  of  the  armies,  is 
told  in  a  moment.  The  Prince  remained  firm  in  his 
position ;  the  French  charged  with  their  usual  chival¬ 
rous  ardor,  —  charged  up  the  lane ;  the  English  arch¬ 
ers,  whom  the  Prince  had  stationed  behind  the  hedges 
on  each  side,  let  fly  their  showers  of  arrows,  as  at 
Cressy ;  in  an  instant  the  lane  was  choked  with  the 
dead ;  and  the  first  check  of  such  headstrong  confi¬ 
dence  was  fatal.  Here,  as  at  Cressy,  was  exemplified 
the  truth  of  the  remark  of  the  mediaeval  historian,  — 
“We  now  no  longer  contest  our  battles,  as  did  the 
Greeks  and  Eomans ;  the  first  stroke  decides  all.” 1 
The  Prince  in  his  turn  charged :  a  general  panic  seized 
the  whole  French  army  ;  the  first  and  second  division 
fled  in  the  wildest  confusion;  the  third  alone,  where 
King  John  stood,  made  a  gallant  resistance ;  the  king 
was  taken  prisoner,  and  by  noon  the  whole  was  over. 
Up  to  the  gates  of  the  town  of  Poitiers  the  French 
army  fled  and  fell ;  and  their  dead  bodies  were  buried  by 
heaps  within  a  convent  which  still  remains  in  the  city. 

1  Lanone,  quoted  in  M.  Ambert’s  Memoir  on  Cress}-,  p.  14. 


1356.] 


BATTLE  OF  POITIERS. 


163 


It  was  a  wonderful  day.  It  was  eight  thousand  to  sixty 
thousand ;  the  Prince,  who  had  gained  the  battle,  was 
still  only  twenty-six,  —  that  is,  a  year  younger  than 
Napoleon  at  the  beginning  of  his  campaigns,  —  and  the 
battle  was  distinguished  from  among  all  others  by  the 
number  not  of  the  slain  but  of  the  prisoners,  —  one 
Englishman  often  taking  four  or  five  Frenchmen.1 

“  The  day  of  the  battle  at  night,  the  Prince  gave  a 
supper  in  his  lodgings  to  the  French  King,  and  to 
most  of  the  great  lords  that  were  prisoners.  The 
Prince  caused  the  king  and  his  son  to  sit  at  one  table, 
and  other  lords,  knights,  and  squires  at  the  others ;  and 
the  Prince  always  served  the  king  very  humbly,  and 
would  not  sit  at  the  king’s  table,  although  he  requested 
him,  —  he  said  he  was  not  qualified  to  sit  at  the  table 
with  so  great  a  prince  as  the  king  was.  Then  he  said 
to  the  king :  ‘  Sir,  for  God’s  sake  make  no  bad  cheer, 
though  your  will  was  not  accomplished  this  day.  For, 
Sir,  the  king,  my  father,  will  certainly  bestow  on  you 
as  much  honor  and  friendship  as  he  can,  and  will  agree 
with  you  so  reasonably  that  you  shall  ever  after  be 
friends  ;  and,  Sir,  I  think  you  ought  to  rejoice,  though 
the  battle  be  not  as  you  will,  for  you  have  this  day 
gained  the  high  honor  of  prowess,  and  have  surpassed 
all  others  on  your  side  in  valor.  Sir,  I  say  not  this  in 
raillery  ;  for  all  our  party,  who  saw  every  man’s  deeds, 
agree  in  this,  and  give  you  the  palm  and  chaplet.’ 

1  See  the  despatch  addressed  by  the  Black  Prince  to  the  Bishop  of 
Worcester  a  month  after  the  engagement.  (Archasologia,  i.  213.)  It 
winds  up  with  a  list  of  prisoners,  and  finishes  thus  :  — 

“Et  sont  pris,  etc.,  des  gentz  d’armes  m.ixc.xxxiii. —  Gaudete  in 
Domino 

Et  outre  sont  mortz  mmccccxxvi.  Iterum  dico  Gaudete  !  ” 

It  is  remarkable  that  he  notices  that  he  had  set  out  on  his  expedi* 
tion  on  the  eve  of  the  Translation  of  Saint  Thomas. 


164 


THE  PRINCE  VISITS  CANTERBURY. 


[1357. 


Therewith  the  Frenchmen  whispered  among  themselves 
that  the  Prince  had  spoken  nobly,  and  that  most  prob¬ 
ably  he  would  prove  a  great  hero,  if  God  preserved  his 
life,  to  persevere  in  such  good  fortune.” 

It  was  after  this  great  battle  that  we  first  hear  of  the 
Prince’s  connection  with  Canterbury.  There  is,  it  is 
true,  a  strange  contradiction 1  between  the  English  and 
French  historians  as  to  the  spot  of  the  Prince’s  land¬ 
ing  and  the  course  of  his  subsequent  journey.  But  the 
usual  story,  as  told  by  Froissart,  is  as  follows  :  — 

[1357.]  On  the  16th  of  April,  1357,  the  Prince 
with  the  French  King  landed  at  Sandwich ;  there  they 
stayed  two  days,  and  on  the  19th  entered  Canterbury. 
Simon  of  Islip  was  now  Archbishop,  and  he  probably 
would  be  there  to  greet  them.  The  French  King,  if  we 
may  suppose  that  the  same  course  was  adopted  here 
as  when  they  reached  London,  rode  on  a  magnificent 
cream-colored  charger,  the  Prince  on  a  little  black  pony 
at  his  side.  They  came  into  the  cathedral,  and  made 
their  offerings  at  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas.  Tradition  2 
says,  but  without  any  probability  of  truth,  that  the 
old  room  above  St.  Anselm’s  Chapel  was  used  as  King 
John’s  prison.  He  may  possibly  have  seen  it,  but  he  is 
hardly  likely  to  have  lived  there.  At  any  rate,  they 
were  only  here  for  a  day,  and  then  again  advanced  on 
their  road  to  London.  One  other  tradition  we  may 
perhaps  connect  with  this  visit.  Behind  the  hospital 
at  Harbledown  is  an  old  well,  still  called  “  The  Black 
Prince’s  Well.”  If  this  is  the  only  time  that  he  passed 
through  Canterbury,  —  and  it  is  the  only  time  that  we 
hear  of,  —  then  we  may  suppose  that  in  the  steep  road 

1  See  Appendix. 

2  Gostling’s  Walks  about  Canterbury,  p.  263.  For  his  later  visit 
to  Canterbury,  see  “  Becket’s  Shrine.” 


«r 


1363.]  THE  PRINCE’S  MARRIAGE.  165 

underneath  the  hospital  he  halted,  as  we  know  that  all 
pilgrims  did,  to  see  Becket’s  shoe,  which  was  kept  in 
the  hospital,  and  that  he  may  have  gone  down  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hill  to  wash,  as  others  did,  in  the 
water  of  the  spring ;  and  we  may  well  suppose  that 
such  an  occasion  would  never  be  forgotten,  and  that 
his  name  would  live  long  afterwards  in  the  memory  of 
the  old  almsmen. 

[1363.]  Canterbury,  however,  had  soon  a  more  sub¬ 
stantial  connection  with  the  Black  Prince.  In  1363 
he  married  his  cousin  Joan  in  the  chapel  at  Windsor ; 
which  witnessed  no  other  royal  wedding  till  that  beau¬ 
tiful  and  touching  dav  which  witnessed  the  union  of 
our  own  Prince  of  Wales  with  the  Princess  Alexandra 
of  Denmark.  Of  these  nuptials  Edward  the  Black 
Prince  left  a  memorial  in  the  beautiful  chapel  still  to 
he  seen  in  the  crypt  of  the  cathedral,  where  two 
priests  were  to  pray  for  his  soul,  first  in  his  lifetime, 
and  also,  according  to  the  practice  of  those  times,  after 
his  death.  It  is  now,  by  a  strange  turn  of  fortune 
which  adds  another  link  to  the  historical  interest  of  the 
place,  the  entrance  to  the  chapel  of  the  French  con¬ 
gregation,  —  the  descendants  of  the  very  nation  whom 
he  conquered  at  Poitiers ;  hut  you  can  still  trace  the 
situation  of  the  two  altars  where  his  priests  stood,  and 
on  the  groined  vaultings  you  can  see  his  arms  and 
the  arms  of  his  father,  and,  in  connection  with  the  joy¬ 
ful  event,  in  thankfulness  for  which  he  founded  the 
chapel,  what  seems  to  he  the  face  of  his  beautiful  wife, 
commonly  known  as  the  Fair  Maid  of  Kent.  For  the 
permission  to  found  this  chantry,  he  left  to  the  Chapter 
of  Canterbury  an  estate  which  still  belongs  to  them, 
not  far  from  his  own  Palace  of  Kennington  and  from 
the  road  still  called  the  “  Prince’s  Eoad,”  —  the  manor 


166 


SPANISH  CAMPAIGN. 


[1366. 


of  “  Fawkes’  Hall.”  This  ancient  namesake  of  the  more 
celebrated  Guy  was,  as  we  learn  from  legal  records,  a 
powerful  baron  in  the  reign  of  John,  and  received  from 
that  king  a  grant  of  land  in  South  Lambeth,  where  he 
built  a  hall  or  mansion-house,  called  from  him  “  Fawkes’ 
Hall,”  or  “  La  Salle  de  Fawkes.”  He  would  have  little 
thought  of  the  strange  and  universal  fame  his  house 
would  acquire  in  the  form  in  which  we  are  now  so 
familiar  with  it  in  the  gardens,  the  factories,  the  bridge, 
and  the  railway  station  of  Vauxhall.1 

[1366.]  And  now  we  have  to  go  again  over  ten  years, 
and  we  find  the  Prince  engaged  in  a  war  in  Spain,  help¬ 
ing  Don  Pedro,  King  of  Spain,  against  his  brother.  But 
this  would  take  us  too  far  away,  —  I  will  only  say  that 
here  also  he  won  a  most  brilliant  victory,  the  battle  of 
Nejara,  in  1367 ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  remember  that 
the  first  great  commander  of  the  English  armies  had  a 
peninsular  war  to  fight  as  well  as  the  last,  and  that  the 
flower  of  English  chivalry  led  his  troops  through  the 
pass  of  Roncesvalles, 

“  Where  Charlemagne  and  all  his  peerage  fell,” 

in  the  days  of  the  old  romances. 

[1376.]  Once  again,  then,  we  pass  over  ten  years 
(for  by  a  singular  coincidence,  which  has  been  observed 
by  others,  the  life  of  the  Prince  thus  naturally  di¬ 
vides  itself),  and  we  find  ourselves  at  the  end,  —  at 
that  last  scene,  which  is  in  fact  the  main  connection  of 
the  Black  Prince  with  Canterbury.  The  expedition  to 
Spain,  though  accompanied  by  one  splendid  victory  had 
ended  disastrously.  From  that  moment  the  fortunes 
of  the  Prince  were  overcast.  A  long  and  wasting  ill- 

1  See  Appendix.  For  the  history  of  Fawkes,  see  Foss’s  Judges, 
ii.  256  ;  Archaeological  Journal,  iv.  275. 


1376.]  HIS  APPEARANCE  IN  PARLIAMENT.  167 

ness,  which  he  contracted  in  the  southern  climate  of 
Spain,  broke  down  his  constitution ;  a  rebellion  occa¬ 
sioned  by  his  own  wastefulness,  which  was  one  of  the 
faults  of  his  character,  burst  forth  in  his  French  prov¬ 
inces;  his  father  was  now  sinking  in  years,  and  sur¬ 
rounded  by  unworthy  favorites,  —  such  was  the  state  in 
which  the  Prince  returned  for  the  last  time  to  England. 
For  four  years  he  lived  in  almost  entire  seclusion  at 
Berkhamstead,  in  preparation  for  his  approaching  end  ; 
often  he  fell  into  long  fainting-fits,  which  his  attendants 
mistook  for  death.  One  of  the  traditions  which  con¬ 
nects  his  name  with  the  well  at  Harbledown  speaks  of 
his  having  had  the  water  1  brought  thence  to  him  as  he 
lay  sick  —  or,  according  to  a  more  common  but  ground¬ 
less  story,  dying  —  in  the  Archbishop’s  palace  at  Can¬ 
terbury.  Once  more,  however,  his  youthful  energy, 
though  in  a  different  form,  shot  up  in  an  expiring  flame. 
His  father,  I  have  said,  was  sinking  into  dotage ;  and 
the  favorites  of  the  court  were  taking  advantage  of  him, 
to  waste  the  public  money.  Parliament  met,  —  Par¬ 
liament,  as  you  must  remember,  unlike  the  two  great 
Houses  which  now  sway  the  destiny  of  the  empire,  but 
still  feeling  its  way  towards  its  present  powers,  —  Parlia¬ 
ment  met  to  check  this  growing  evil ;  and  then  it  was 
that  when  they  looked  round  in  vain  for  a  leader  to  guide 
their  counsels  and  support  their  wavering  resolutions, 
the  dying  Prince  came  forth  from  his  long  retirement, 
and  was  carried  up  to  London,  to  assist  his  country  in 
this  time  of  its  utmost  need.  His  own  residence  was 
a  palace  which  stood  on  what  is  now  called  Fish  Street 
Hill,  the  street  opposite  the  London  Monument.  But 

1  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  well  has  always  been  supposed  to  pos¬ 
sess  medicinal  qualities,  and  this  was  probably  the  cause  of  Lanfranc’s 
selection  of  that  spot  for  his  leper-house. 


168 


HIS  DEATHBED. 


[1376. 


he  would  not  rest  there ;  he  was  brought  to  the  Koyal 
Palace  of  Westminster,  that  he  might  be  close  at  hand 
to  he  carried  from  his  sick-bed  to  the  Parliament,  which 
met  in  the  chambers  of  the  palace.  This  was  on  the 
28th  of  April,  1376.  The  spirit  of  the  Parliament  and 
the  nation  revived  as  they  saw  him,  and  the  purpose  for 
which  he  came  was  accomplished.  But  it  was  his  last 
effort.  Day  by  day  his  strength  ebbed  away,  and  he 
never  again  moved  from  the  palace  at  Westminster. 
On  the  7th  of  June  he  signed  his  will,  by  which,  as  we 
shall  presently  see,  directions  were  given  for  his  funeral 
and  tomb.  On  the  8th  he  rapidly  sank.  The  , begin¬ 
ning  of  his  end  cannot  be  better  told  than  in  the  words 
of  the  herald  Chandos,  who  had  attended  him  in  all  his 
wars,  and  who  was  probably  present :  — 

“  Then  the  Prince  caused  his  chambers  to  be  opened 
And  all  his  followers  to  come  in. 

Who  in  his  time  had  served  him, 

And  served  him  with  a  free  will ; 

‘  Sirs/  said  he,  ‘  pardon  me  ; 

Eor,  by  the  faith  I  owe  you, 

You  have  served  me  loyally, 

Though  I  cannot  of  my  means 
Render  to  each  his  guerdon ; 

But  God  by  his  most  holy  name 
And  saints,  will  render  it  you/ 

Then  each  wept  heartily 
And  mourned  right  tenderly, 

All  who  were  there  present, 

Earl,  baron,  and  bachelor  ; 

Then  he  said  in  a  clear  voice, 

‘  I  recommend  to  you  my  son, 

Who  is  yet  but  young  and  small, 

And  pray  that  as  you  served  me, 

So  from  your  heart  you  would  serve  him.’ 

Then  he  called  the  King  his  father, 

And  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  his  brother, 

And  commended  to  them  his  wife, 

And  his  son,  whom  he  greatly  loved, 

And  straightway  entreated  them ; 


1376.] 


HIS  DEATHBED. 


169 


And  each  was  willing  to  give  his  aid, 

Each  swore  upon  the  book, 

And  they  promised  him  freely 
That  they  would  comfort  his  son 
And  maintain  him  in  his  right ; 

All  the  princes  and  barons 
Swore  all  round  to  this, 

And  the  noble  Prince  of  fame 

Gave  them  an  hundred  thousand  thanks. 

But  till  then,  so  God  aid  me, 

Never  was  seen  such  bitter  grief 
As  was  at  his  departure. 

The  right  noble  excellent  Prince 
Felt  such  pain  at  heart, 

That  it  almost  burst 
With  moaning  and  sighing, 

And  crying  out  in  his  pain 
So  great  suffering  did  he  endure, 

That  there  was  no  man  living 
Who  had  seen  his  agony, 

But  would  heartily  have  pitied  him.”  1 

In  this  last  agony  he  was,  as  he  had  been  through 
life,  specially  attentive  to  the  wants  of  his  servants 
and  dependants  ;  and  after  having  made  them  large 
gifts,  he  called  his  little  son  to  his  bedside,  and  charged 
him  on  pain  of  his  curse  never  to  take  them  away  from 
them  as  long  as  he  lived. 

The  doors  still  remained  open,  and  his  attendants 
were  constantly  passing  and  re-passing,  down  to  the 
least  page,  to  see  their  dying  master.  Such  a  deathbed 
had  hardly  been  seen  since  the  army  of  Alexander  the 
Great  defiled  through  his  room  during  his  last  illness. 
As  the  day  wore  away,  a  scene  occurred  which  showed 
how  even  at  that  moment  the  stern  spirit  of  his  fa¬ 
ther  still  lived  on  in  his  shattered  frame.  A  knight,  Sir 

1  Chandos’s  Poem  of  the  Black  Prince,  edited  and  translated  for 
the  Roxburghe  Club  by  the  Rev.  H.  O.  Coxe,  Sub-librarian  of  the  Bod¬ 
leian  Library  at  Oxford.  May  I  take  this  opportunity  of  expressing 
my  grateful  sense  of  his  assistance  on  this  and  on  all  other  occasions 
when  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  referring  to  him'? 


170  EXORCISM  BY  THE  BISHOP  OF  BANGOR.  [1376. 

Bichard  Strong  by  name,  who  had  offended  him  by  the 
evil  counsel  he  had  given  to  the  king,  came  in  with 
the  rest.  Instantly  the  Prince  broke  out  into  a  harsh 
rebuke,  and  told  him  to  leave  the  room  and  see  his 
face  no  more.  This  burst  of  passion  was  too  much  for 
him,  —  he  sank  into  a  fainting-fit.  The  end  was  evi¬ 
dently  near  at  hand ;  and  the  Bishop  of  Bangor,  who 
was  standing  by  the  bedside  of  the  dying  man,  struck 
perhaps  by  the  scene  which  had  just  occurred,  strongly 
exhorted  him  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  to  forgive 
all  his  enemies,  and  ask  forgiveness  of  God  and  of  men. 
The  Prince  replied,  “  I  will.”  But  the  good  Bishop  was 
not  so  to  be  satisfied.  Again  he  urged :  “  It  suffices 
not  to  say  only  ‘  I  will ;  ’  but  where  you  have  power, 
you  ought  to  declare  it  in  words,  and  to  ask  pardon.” 
Again  and  again  the  Prince  doggedly  answered,  “  I 
will.”  The  Bishop  was  deeply  grieved,  and  in  the  be¬ 
lief  of  those  times,  of  which  we  may  still  admire  the 
spirit,  though  the  form  both  of  his  act  and  expression 
has  long  since  passed  away,  he  said,  “An  evil  spirit 
holds  his  tongue,  —  we  must  drive  it  away,  or  he  will 
die  in  his  sins ;  ”  and  so  saying,  he  sprinkled  holy 
water  over  the  four  corners  of  the  room,  and  com¬ 
manded  the  evil  spirit  to  depart.  The  Prince  ivas 
vexed  by  an  evil  spirit,  though  not  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  good  Bishop  meant  it ;  he  was  vexed  by  the 
evil  spirit  of  bitter  revenge,  which  was  the  curse  of 
those  feudal  times,  and  which  now,  thank  God,  though 
it  still  lingers  amongst  us,  has  ceased  to  haunt  those 
noble  souls  which  then  were  its  especial  prey.  That 
evil  spirit  did  depart,  though  not  perhaps  by  the  means 
then  used  to  expel  it ;  the  Christian  words  of  the 
good  man  had  produced  their  effect,  and  in  a  moment 
the  Prince’s  whole  look  and  manner  was  altered.  He 


2376.] 


HIS  DEATH. 


171 


joined  his  hands,  lifted  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  said : 
“  I  give  thee  thanks,  O  God,  for  all  thy  benefits,  and 
with  all  the  pains  of  my  soul  I  humbly  beseech  thy 
mercy  to  give  me  remission  of  those  sins  I  have  wick¬ 
edly  committed  against  thee;  and  of  all  mortal  men 
whom  willingly  or  ignorantly  I  have  offended,  with 
all  my  heart  I  desire  forgiveness.”  With  these  words, 
which  seem  to  have  been  the  last  effort  of  exhausted 
nature,  he  immediately  expired.1 

It  was  at  three  P.  M.,  on  Trinity  Sunday,  —  a  festival 
which  he  had  always  honored  with  especial  reverence  ; 
it  was  on  the  8th  of  June,  just  one  month  before  his 
birthday,  in  his  forty-sixth  year,  —  the  same  age  which 
has  closed  the  career  of  so  many  illustrious  men  both 
in  peace  and  war,  —  that  the  Black  Prince  breathed  his 
last. 

Far  and  wide  the  mourning  spread  when  the  news 
was  known.  Even  amongst  his  enemies,  in  the  beauti¬ 
ful  chapel  of  the  palace  of  the  French  kings,  —  called 
the  Sainte  Chapelle,  or  Holy  Chapel,  —  funeral  services 
were  celebrated  by  King  Louis,  son  of  that  King  John 
whom  he  had  taken  prisoner  at  Poitiers.  Most  deeply, 
of  course,  was  the  loss  felt  in  his  own  family  and  circle, 
of  which  he  had  been  so  long  the  pride  and  ornament. 
His  companion  in  arms,  the  Captal  de  Buch,  was  so 
heart-broken  that  he  refused  to  take  any  food,  and  in 
a  few  days  died  of  starvation  and  grief.  His  father, 
already  shaken  in  strength  and  years,  never  recovered 
the  blow,  and  lingered  on  only  for  one  more  year. 

“  Mighty  victor,  mighty  lord,  — 

Low  on  his  funeral  couch  he  lies. 

Is  the  sable  warrior  fled  1 

Thy  son  is  gone.  He  rests  among  the  dead.” 

1  Archasologia,  xxii.  229. 


172 


MOURNING. 


[1376. 


But  most  striking  was  the  mourning  of  the  whole 
English  nation.  Seldom,  if  ever,  has  the  death  of  one 
man  so  deeply  struck  the  sympathy  of  the  English 
people.  Our  fathers  saw  the  mourning  of  the  whole 
country  over  the  Princess  Charlotte,  and  the  great  fu¬ 
neral  procession  which  conveyed  the  remains  of  Nel¬ 
son  to  their  resting-place  in  St.  Paul’s,  —  we  ourselves 
have  seen  the  deep  grief  over  the  sudden  death  of  our 
most  illustrious  statesman,  —  we  know  what  is  the 
feeling  with  which  we  should  at  this  moment1  regard 
the  loss  of  the  great  commander  who  perhaps  more 
than  any  other  single  person  has  filled  in  our  minds 
the  place  of  the  Black  Prince.  But  in  order  to  ap¬ 
preciate  the  mourning  of  the  people,  when  Edward 
Plantagenet  passed  away,  we  must  combine  all  these 
feelings.  He  was  the  cherished  heir  to  the  throne  of 
England,  and  his  untimely  death  would  leave  the  crown 
in  the  hands  of  a  child,  —  the  prey,  as  was  afterwards 
proved,  to  popular  seditions  and  to  ambitious  rivals. 
He  was  the  great  soldier,  “in  whose  health  the  hopes 
of  Englishmen  had  flourished,  in  whose  distress  they 
had  languished,  in  whose  death  they  had  died.  In  his 
life  they  had  feared  no  invasion,  no  encounter  in  battle ; 
he  went  against  no  army  that  he  did  not  conquer,  he  at¬ 
tacked  no  city  that  he  did  not  take,”  and  now  to  whom 
were  they  to  look  ?  The  last  time  they  had  seen  him 
in  public  was  as  the  champion  of  popular  rights  against 
a  profligate  court,  as  fearless  in  the  House  of  Parlia¬ 
ment  as  he  had  been  on  the  field  of  battle.  And  yet 
more,  he  died  at  a  moment  when  all  was  adverse  and 
threatening,  —  when  all  was  blank  in  the  future,  and 

1  This  was  written  in  June,  1852,  and  (with  all  that  follows)  has 
been  left  unaltered.  The  coincidences  with  what  actually  took  place 
in  the  autumn  of  that  year  will  occur  to  every  one. 


1376.] 


HIS  FUNERAL. 


173 


that  future  was  dark  with  cloud  and  storm.  John 
Wycliffe,  with  whom  we  parted  at  Oxford  thirty  years 
ago,  had  already  begun  to  proclaim  those  great  changes 
which  shook  to  their  centre  the  institutions  of  the 
country.  There  were  mutterings,  too,  of  risings  in 
classes  hitherto  not  thought  of,  — Wat  Tyler  and  Jack 
Cade  were  already  on  the  horizon  of  Kent  and  of  Eng¬ 
land  ;  and  in  the  rivalry  of  the  king’s  sons,  now  left 
without  an  acknowledged  chief,  were  already  laid  the 
seeds  of  the  long  and  dreadful  wars  of  the  houses  of 
York  and  Lancaster. 

It  is  by  remembering  these  feelings  that  we  shall 
best  enter  into  the  closing  scene,  with  which  we  are 
here  so  nearly  connected. 

Eor  nearly  four  months  —  from  the  8th  of  June  to 
the  29th  of  September  —  the  coffined  body  lay  in  state 
at  Westminster,  and  then,  as  soon  as  Parliament  met 
again,  as  usual  in  those  times,  on  the  festival  of 
Michaelmas,  was  brought  to  Canterbury.  It  was  laid 
in  a  stately  hearse,  drawn  by  twelve  black  horses ;  and 
the  whole  Court,  and  both  houses  of  Parliament  fol¬ 
lowed  in  deep  mourning.  The  great  procession  started 
from  Westminster  Palace;  it  passed  through  what 
was  then  the  little  village  of  Charing,  clustered  in  the 
midst  of  the  open  fields  of  St.  Martin,  round  Queen 
Eleanor’s  Cross.  It  passed  along  the  Strand,  by  the 
houses  of  the  great  nobles,  who  had  so  often  fought 
side  by  side  with  him  in  his  wars ;  and  the  Savoy 
Palace,  where  twenty  years  before  he  had  lodged  the 
French  King  as  his  prisoner  in  triumph.  It  passed  un¬ 
der  the  shade  of  the  lofty  tower  of  the  old  cathedral 
of  St.  Paul’s,  which  had  so  often  resounded  with  Te 
Deums  for  his  victories.  It  descended  the  steep  hill, 
overhung  by  the  gray  walls  of  his  own  palace,  above 


174 


HIS  FUNERAL. 


[1376. 


London  Bridge ;  and  over  tliat  ancient  bridge,  then  the 
only  bridge  in  London,  it  moved  onwards  on  its  road 
to  Canterbury,  —  that  same  road  which  at  this  very 
time  had  become  so  well  known  from  Chaucer’s  “  Can¬ 
terbury  Tales.” 

On  entering  Canterbury  they  paused  at  the  west  gate 
of  Canterbury,  —  not  the  one  which  now  stands  there, 
which  was  built  a  few  years  later,  —  but  an  older  gate¬ 
way,  with  the  little  chapel  of  Holycross  at  the  top,  sur¬ 
mounted  by  a  lofty  cross,  seen  far  off,  as  the  procession 
descended  from  Harbledown.  Here  they  were  met  — 
so  the  Prince  had  desired  in  his  will1  —  by  two  chargers, 
fully  caparisoned,  and  mounted  by  two  riders  in  com¬ 
plete  armor,  —  one  bearing  the  Prince’s  arms  of  Eng¬ 
land  and  France,  the  other  the  ostrich  feathers ;  one 
to  represent  the  Prince  in  his  splendid  suite  as  he  rode 
in  war,  the  other  to  represent  him  in  black  as  he  rode 
to  tournaments.  Four  black  banners  followed.  So  they 
passed  through  the  streets  of  the  city,  till  they  reached 
the  gate  of  the  Precincts.  Here,  according  to  the  cus¬ 
tom,  the  armed  men  2  halted,  and  the  body  was  carried 
into  the  cathedral.  In  the  space  between  the  high  altar 
and  the  choir  a  bier  was  placed  to  receive  it,  whilst  the 
funeral  services  were  read,  surrounded  with  burning  ta¬ 
pers  and  with  all  the  heraldic  pomp  which  marked  his 
title  and  rank.  It  must  have  been  an  august  assemblage 
which  took  part  in  those  funeral  prayers.  The  aged 
king,  in  all  probability,  was  not  there,  but  we  cannot 
doubt  that  the  executors  were  present.  One  was  his  ri¬ 
val  brother  John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster.  Another 
was  his  long-tried  friend,  William  of  Wykeham,  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  whose  name  is  still  dear  to  hundreds  of 

1  See  Appendix. 

2  See  Murder  of  Becket,  pp.  99,  104,  118. 


HIS  TOMB. 


175 


Englishmen,  old  and  young,  from  the  two  magnificent 
colleges  which  he  founded  at  Winchester  and  at  Oxford. 
A  third  was  Courtenay,  Bishop  of  London,  who  now  lies 
at  the  Prince’s  feet,  and 
Simon  of  Sudbury,  who 
had  been  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  in  the  previ¬ 
ous  years,  —  he  whose 
magnificent  bequests  still 
appear  in  the  gates  and 
walls  of  the  city,  —  he 
whose  fate  it  was  to  be 
the  first  to  suffer  in  the 
troubles  which  the 
Prince’s  death  would 
cause,  who  was  beheaded 
by  the  rebels  under  Wat 
Tyler  on  the  Tower  Hill, 
and  whose  burial  was  the 
next  great  funeral  within 
the  walls  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral.  And  now,  from  the 
choir,  the  body  was  again 
raised  up,  and  carried  to 
the  tomb. 

We  have  seen  already 
that  twelve  years  before 
the  Prince  had  turned 
his  thoughts  to  Canter¬ 
bury  Cathedral  as  his 
last  home,  when  in  remembrance  of  his  visit  to  the 
shrine  of  St.  Thomas,  and  of  the  fact  that  the  church 
was  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Trinity,  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  had  honored  with  especial  reverence,  he 


THE  TOMB  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE  IN 
CANTERBURY  CATHEDRAL. 


176 


HIS  TOMB. 


founded  the  chapel  in  the  crypt.  In  the  centre  of 
that  crypt,  on  the  spot  where  you  now  see  the  grave¬ 
stone  of  Archbishop  Morton,  it  had  been  his  wish  to 
be  laid,  as  expressed  in  the  will  which  he  signed  only 
the  day  before  his  death.  But  those  who  were  con¬ 
cerned  with  the  funeral  had  prepared  for  him  a  more 
magnificent  resting-place ;  not  in  the  darkness  of  the 
crypt,  but  high  aloft  in  the  sacred  space  behind  the  al¬ 
tar,  and  on  the  south  side  of  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas, 
in  the  chapel  itself  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  on  the  festival 
of  which  he  had  expired,  they  determined  that  the  body 
of  the  hero  should  be  laid.  That  space  is  now  sur¬ 
rounded  with  monuments ;  then  it  was  entirely,  or 
almost  entirely,  vacant.1  The  gorgeous  shrine  stood  in 
the  centre  on  its  colored  pavement,  but  no  other  corpse 
had  been  admitted  within  that  venerated  ground,  —  no 
other,  perhaps,  would  have  been  admitted  but  that  of 
the  Black  Prince.  It  was  twenty-seven  years  before 
the  iron  gates  of  the  chapel  would  again  be  opened  to 
receive  the  dead,  and  this  too  would  be  a  royal  corpse, 
—  the  body  of  King  Henry  IV.,  now  a  child  ten  years 
old,  and  perhaps  present  as  a  mourner  in  this  very  fu¬ 
neral,  but  destined  to  overthrow  the  Black  Prince’s  son, 
and  then  to  rest  by  his  side. 

In  this  sacred  spot  —  believed  at  that  time  to  be 
the  most  sacred  spot  in  England  —  the  tomb  stood  in 
which,  “  alone  in  his  glory,”  the  Prince  was  to  be  de¬ 
posited,  to  be  seen  and  admired  by  all  the  countless 
pilgrims  who  crawled  up  the  stone  steps  beneath  it  on 
their  way  to  the  shrine  of  the  saint.2 

1  The  only  exception  could  have  been  the  tomb  which  stands  on 
the  southeast  side  of  the  Trinity  Chapel,  and  which,  though  not  as 
early  as  Theobald,  to  whom  it  is  commonly  ascribed,  must  be  of  the 
beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

2  An  exactly  analogous  position,  by  Saint  Alban’s  shrine,  is  as- 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  PRINCE’S  LIFE. 


177 


Let  us  turn  to  that  tomb,  and  see  how  it  sums  up 
his  whole  life.  Its  bright  colors  have  long  since  faded, 
but  enough  still  remains  to  show  us  what  it  was  as  it 
stood  after  the  sacred  remains  had  been  placed  within 
it.  There  he  lies  :  no  other  memorial  of  him  exists  in 
the  world  so  authentic.  There  he  lies,  as  he  had  di¬ 
rected,  in  full  armor,  his  head  resting  on  his  helmet,  his 
feet  with  the  likeness  of  “  the  spurs  he  won  ”  at  Cressy, 
his  hands  joined  as  in  that  last  prayer  which  he  had 
offered  up  on  his  deathbed.  There  you  can  see  his  fine 
face  with  the  Plantagenet  features,  the  flat  cheeks,  and 
the  well-chiselled  nose,  to  be  traced  perhaps  in  the 
effigy  of  his  father  in  Westminster  Abbey  and  of  his 
grandfather  in  Gloucester  Cathedral.  On  his  armor 
you  can  still  see  the  marks  of  the  bright  gilding  with 
which  the  figure  was  covered  from  head  to  foot,  so  as 
to  make  it  look  like  an  image  of  pure  gold.  High 
above  are  suspended  the  brazen  gauntlets,  the  helmet, 
with  what  was  once  its  gilded  leopard-crest,  and  the 
wooden  shield ;  the  velvet  coat  also,  embroidered  with 
the  arms  of  France  and  England,  now  tattered  and  col¬ 
orless,  hut  then  blazing  with  blue  and  scarlet.  There, 
too,  still  hangs  the  empty  scabbard  of  the  sword 
wielded  perchance  at  his  three  great  battles,  and  which 
Oliver  Cromwell,  it  is  said,  carried  away.1  On  the  can¬ 
opy  over  the  tomb  there  is  the  faded  representation  — 
painted  after  the  strange  fashion  of  those  times  —  of 
the  Persons  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  according  to  the  pecu¬ 
liar  devotion  which  he  had  entertained.  In  the  pillars 
you  can  see  the  hooks  to  which  was  fastened  the  black 
tapestry,  with  its  crimson  border  and  curious  embroi- 

signed  in  the  Abbey  of  St.  Albans  to  the  tomb  of  Humphrey,  Duke  of 
Gloucester. 

1  For  the  history  of  this  sword,  see  Appendix. 

12 


178 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  PRINCE’S  LIFE. 


dery,  which,  he  directed  in  his  will  should  be  hung  round 
his  tomb  and  the  shrine  of  Becket.  Bound  about  the 
tomb,  too,  you  will  see  the  ostrich  feathers,1  which,  ac- 


SURCOAT,  HELMET,  SHIELD,  CREST,  ETC.,  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE 
SUSPENDED  OVER  HIS  TOMB. 


cording  to  the  old  but  doubtful  tradition,  we  are  told 
he  won  at  Cressy  from  the  blind  King  of  Bohemia,  who 
perished  in  the  thick  of  the  fight ;  and  interwoven  with 

1  The  Essay  “by  the  late  Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  in  the  “  Archasologia,” 
vol.  xxxii.,  gives  all  that  can  be  said  on  this  disputed  question.  The 
ostrich  feathers  are  first  mentioned  in  1369,  on  the  plate  of  Philippa, 
and  were  used  by  all  the  sons  of  Edward  II.,  and  of  all  subsequent 
kings,  till  the  time  of  Arthur,  son  of  Henry  VII.,  after  which  they 
were  appropriated  as  now  to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  The  Black  Prince 
had  sometimes  one  ostrich  feather,  sometimes,  as  on  the  tomb,  three. 
The  old  explanation  given  by  Camden  was  that  they  indicated  jieet- 
ness  in  discharge  of  duty.  The  King  of  Bohemia’s  badge  was  a 
vulture. 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  PRINCE’S  LIFE. 


179 


them,  the  famous  motto,1  with  which  he  used  to  sign 
his  name,  Houmout,  Ich  diene.  If,  as  seems  most 
likely,  they  are  German  words,  they  exactly  express 
what  we  have  seen  so  often  in  his  life,  the  union  of 
Hock  Muth ,  that  is,  “high  spirit,”  with  Ich  dien,  “I 
serve.”  They  bring  before  us  the  very  scene  itself  after 
the  battle  of  Poitiers,  where  after  having  vanquished 
the  whole  French  nation  he  stood  behind  the  captive 
king,  and  served  him  like  an  attendant. 

And,  lastly,  carved  about  the  tomb,  is  the  long  in¬ 
scription,  selected2  by  himself  before  his  death,  in  Nor¬ 
man  French,  still  the  language  of  the  court,  written, 
as  he  begged,  clearly  and  plainly,  that  all  might  read 

1  Houmout  —  Ich  dien.  It  occurs  twice  as  his  autograph  signature 
(see  Appendix).  But  its  first  public  appearance  is  on  the  tomb,  where 
the  words  are  written  alternately  above  the  coats  of  arms,  and  also  on 
the  quills  of  the  feathers.  It  is  said,  though  without  sufficient  proof, 
that  the  King  of  Bohemia  had  the  motto  Ich  dien  from  his  following 
King  Philip  as  a  stipendiary.  The  Welsh  antiquaries  maintain  that 
it  is  a  Celtic  and  not  a  German  motto,  “  Behold  the  man,”  —  the  words 
used  by  Edward  I.  on  presenting  his  first-born  son  to  the  Welsh,  and 
from  him  derived  to  the  subsequent  Princes  of  Wales,  “  Behold  the 
man,”  that  is,  the  male  child. 

2  “  The  epitaph  is  borrowed,  with  a  few  variations,  from  the  anony¬ 
mous  French  translation  of  the  ‘  Clericalis  Disciplina  ’  of  Petrus  Al- 
phonsus,  composed  between  the  years  1106  and  1110.  In  the  original 
Latin  work  it  may  be  found  at  p.  196,  part  i.,  of  the  edition  printed  in 
1824  for  the  Societe  des  Bibliophiles  Franpais.  The  French  version  is 
of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  entitled  ‘Castoiement  d’un  Pere  a  son 
Fils.’  It  was  first  printed  by  Barbazan  in  1760,  and,  more  completely, 
by  Meon  in  1808,  in  whose  edition  the  epitaph  may  be  read  (p.  196) 
under  the  heading  of  ‘  D’un  Philosophe  qui  passoit  parmi  un  Cimen- 
tere.’  The  Black  Prince,  however,  is  not  the  only  distinguished  per¬ 
sonage  who  has  availed  himself  of  this  inscription  ;  for  more  than  half 
a  century  previous  it  was  placed  (in  an  abbreviated  form)  on  the  monu¬ 
ment  of  the  famous  John  de  Warenne,  seventh  Earl  of  Surrey,  who 
died  in  1304,  and  was  buried  before  the  high  altar  in  the  priory  of 
Lewes.  It  is  printed  by  Dugdale  (not  very  correctly)  in  his  Baronage, 
i.  80,  from  the  ‘Lewes  Cartulary,’  which  is  preserved  among  the  Cot¬ 
tonian  MSS.  in  the  British  Museum,  Vespas.  F.  xxv.”  — F.  Madden. 


CANOPY  OF  THE  BLACK  PBINCE  S  TOMB  IN  CANTERBURY 


CATHEDRAL. 


CHIVALRY. 


181 


it.  Its  purport  is  to  contrast  his  former  splendor  and 
vigor  and  beauty  with  the  wasted  body  which  is  now 
all  that  is  left.  What  was  a  natural  thought  at  all 
times  was  specially  characteristic  of  this  period,  as  we 
see  from  the  further  exemplification  of  it  in  Chichele’s 
tomb,  a  hundred  years  later,  where  the  living  man  and 
the  dead  skeleton  are  contrasted  with  each  other  in 
actual  representation.  But  in  this  case  it  would  he 
singularly  affecting,  if  we  can  suppose  it  to  have  been 
written  during  the  four  years’  seclusion,  when  he  lay 
wasting  away  from  his  lingering  illness,  his  high  for¬ 
tunes  overclouded,  and  death  full  in  prospect. 

When  we  stand  by  the  grave  of  a  remarkable  man, 
it  is  always  an  interesting  and  instructive  question  to 
ask,  —  especially  by  the  grave  of  such  a  man  and  in 
such  a  place,  —  What  evil  is  there,  which  we  trust  is 
buried  with  him  in  his  tomb  ;  what  good  is  there,  which 
may  still  live  after  him ;  what  is  it  that,  taking  him 
from  first  to  last,  his  life  and  his  death  teach  us  ? 

First,  then,  the  thought  which  we  most  naturally 
connect  with  the  name  of  the  Black  Prince  is  the  wars 
of  the  English  and  French,  —  the  victories  of  England 
over  France.  Out  of  those  wars  much  noble  feeling 
sprang,  —  feelings  of  chivalry  and  courtesy  and  re¬ 
spect  to  our  enemies,  and  (perhaps  a  doubtful  boon)  of 
unshaken  confidence  in  ourselves.  Such  feelings  are 
amongst  our  most  precious  inheritances,  and  all  honor 
be  to  him  who  first  inspired  them  in  the  hearts  of  his 
countrymen,  never  to  be  again  extinct !  But  it  is  a 
matter  of  still  greater  thankfulness  to  remember,  as  we 
look  at  the  worn-out  armor  of  the  Black  Prince,  that 
those  wars  of  English  conquest  are  buried  with  him, 
never  to  be  revived.  Other  wars  may  arise  in  the  un- 


182 


CHIVALRY. 


known  future  still  before  us ;  but  such  wars  as  he  and 
his  father  waged,  we  shall,  we  may  thankfully  hope, 
see  no  more  again  forever.  We  shall  never  again  see 
a  King  of  England  or  a  Prince  of  Wales  taking  ad¬ 
vantage  of  a  legal  quibble  to  conquer  a  great  neighbor¬ 
ing  country,  and  laying  waste  with  fire  and  sword  a 
civilized  kingdom  from  mere  self-aggrandizement.  We 
have  seen  how,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Poitiers,  one 
good  man,  with  a  patience  and  charity  truly  heroic,  did 
strive,  by  all  that  Christian  wisdom  and  forbearance 
could  urge,  to  stop  that  unhallowed  warfare.  It  is  a 
satisfaction  to  think  that  his  wish  is  accomplished, — 
that  what  he  labored  to  effect  almost  as  a  hopeless  pro¬ 
ject  has  now  wellnigh  become  the  law  of  the  civilized 
world.  It  is  true  that  the  wars  of  Edward  III.  and 
the  Black  Prince  were  renewed  again  on  a  more  fright¬ 
ful  scale  in  the  next  century,  —  renewed  at  the  instiga¬ 
tion  of  an  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who  strove  thus 
to  avert  the  storm  which  seemed  to  him  to  be  threat¬ 
ening  the  Church ;  but  these  were  the  last,  and  the 
tomb  and  college  of  Chichele  are  themselves  lasting 
monuments  of  the  deep  remorse  for  his  sin  which 
smote  his  declining  years.  With  him  finished  the 
last  trace  of  those  bloody  wars :  may  nothing  ever 
arise,  in  our  time  or  our  children’s,  to  break  the  bond 
of  peace  between  England  and  France,  which  is  the 
bond  of  the  peace  of  the  world ! 

Secondly,  he  brings  before  us  all  that  is  most  charac¬ 
teristic  of  the  ages  of  chivalry.  You  have  heard  of  his 
courtesy,  his  reverence  to  age  and  authority,  his  gener¬ 
osity  to  his  fallen  enemy.  But  before  I  speak  of  this 
more  at  length,  here  also  I  must  in  justice  remind  you 
that  the  evil  as  well  as  the  good  of  chivalry  was  seen 
in  him,  and  that  this  evil,  like  that  which  I  spoke  of 


SACK  OF  LIMOGES. 


183 


just  now,  is  also,  I  trust,  buried  with  him.  One  single 
instance  will  show  what  I  mean.  In  those  disastrous 
years  which  ushered  in  the  close  of  his  life,  a  rebellion 
arose  in  his  French  province  of  Gascony,  provoked  by 
his  wasteful  expenditure.  One  of  the  chief  towns  where 
the  insurgents  held  out,  w~as  Limoges.  The  Prince, 
though  then  laboring  under  his  fatal  illness,  besieged 
and  took  it ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  taken,  he  gave  or¬ 
ders  that  his  soldiers  should  massacre  every  one  that 
they  found ;  whilst  he  himself,  too  ill  to  walk  or  ride, 
was  carried  through  the  streets  in  a  litter,  looking  on  at 
the  carnage.  Men,  women,  and  children  threw  them¬ 
selves  ou  their  knees,  as  he  passed  on  through  the  de¬ 
voted  city,  crying,  “  Mercy,  mercy ;  ”  but  he  went  on 
relentlessly,  and  the  massacre  went  on,  till,  struck  by 
the  gallantry  of  three  French  knights,  whom  he  saw 
fighting  in  one  of  the  squares  against  fearful  odds,  he 
ordered  it  to  cease.  Now,  for  this  dreadful  scene  there 
were  doubtless  many  excuses,  —  the  irritation  of  ill¬ 
ness,  the  affection  for  his  father,  whose  dignity  he 
thought  outraged  by  so  determined  a  resistance,  and 
the  indignation  against  the  ingratitude  of  a  city  on 
which  he  had  bestowed  many  favors.  But  what  is 
especially  to  be  observed  is  not  so  much  the  cruelty 
of  the  individual  man  as  the  great  imperfection  of 
that  kind  of  virtue  which  could  allow  of  such  cruelty. 
Dreadful  as  this  scene  seems  to  us,  to  men  of  that  time 
it  seemed  quite  natural.  The  poet  who  recorded  it  had 
nothing  more  to  say  concerning  it  than  that  — 

“  All  the  townsmen  were  taken  or  slain 
By  the  noble  Prince  of  price, 

Whereat  great  joy  had  all  around, 

Those  who  were  his  friends  ; 

And  his  enemies  were 

Sorely  grieved,  and  repented 

That  they  had  begun  the  war  against  him.” 


184  FIRST  GREAT  ENGLISH  CAPTAIN,  AND 

This  strange  contradiction  arose  from  one  single 
cause.  The  Black  Prince,  and  those  who  looked  up 
to  him  as  their  pattern,  chivalrous,  kind,  and  gen¬ 
erous  as  they  were  to  their  equals  and  to  their  imme¬ 
diate  dependants,  had  no  sense  of  what  was  due  to  the 
poor,  to  the  middle  and  the  humbler  classes  generally. 
He  could  be  touched  by  the  sight  of  a  captive  king  or 
at  the  gallantry  of  the  three  Prench  gentlemen  ;  but  he 
had  no  ears  to  hear,  no  eyes  to  see,  the  cries  and  groans 
of  the  fathers  and  mothers  and  children,  —  of  the  poorer 
citizens,  who  were  not  bound  to  him  by  the  laws  of 
honor  and  of  knighthood.  It  is  for  us  to  remember, 
as  we  stand  by  his  grave,  that  whilst  he  has  left  us  the 
legacy  of  those  noble  and  beautiful  feelings  which  are 
the  charm  and  best  ornaments  of  life,  though  not  its 
most  necessary  virtues,  it  is  our  further  privilege  and 
duty  to  extend  those  feelings  towards  the  classes  on 
whom  he  never  cast  a  thought ;  to  have  towards  all 
classes  of  society,  and  to  make  them  have  towards  each 
other  and  towards  ourselves,  the  high  respect  and  cour¬ 
tesy  and  kindness  which  were  then  peculiar  to  one 
class  only. 

It  is  a  well-known  saying  in  Shakspeare,  that  — 

“  The  evil  which  men  do  lives  after  them  ; 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones.” 

But  it  is.  often  happily  just  the  reverse,  and  so  it  was 
with  the  Black  Prince.  His  evil  is  interred  with  his 
bones  ;  the  good  which  he  has  done  lives  after  him, 
and  to  that  good  let  us  turn. 

He  was  the  first  great  English  captain  who  showed 
what  English  soldiers  were,  and  what  they  could  do 
against  Erenclimen  and  against  all  the  world.  He 
was  the  first  English  prince  who  showed  what  it  was 
to  be  a  true  gentleman.  He  was  the  first,  but  he  was 


FIRST  ENGLISH  GENTLEMAN. 


185 


not  the  last.  We  have  seen  how,  when  he  died,  Eng¬ 
lishmen  thought  that  all  their  hopes  had  died  with  him. 
But  we  know  that  it  was  not  so ;  we  know  that  the  life  of 
a  great  nation  is  not  bound  up  with  the  life  of  a  single 
man  ;  we  know  that  the  valor  and  the  courtesy  and 
the  chivalry  of  England  are  not  buried  in  the  grave  of 
the  Plantagenet  Prince.  It  needs  only  a  glance  round 
the  country  to  see  that  the  high  character  of  an  Eng¬ 
lish  gentleman,  of  which  the  Black  Prince  was  the 
noble  pattern,  is  still  to  be  found  everywhere  ;  and  has 
since  his  time  been  spreading  itself  more  and  more 
through  classes  which  in  his  time  seemed  incapable  of 
reaching  it.  It  needs  only  a  glance  down  the  nave  of 
our  own  cathedral ;  and  the  tablets  on  the  walls,  with 
their  tattered  flags,  will  tell  you,  in  a  moment,  that  he, 
as  he  lies  up  there  aloft,  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
helmet  and  his  spurs  on  his  feet,  is  but  the  first  of  a 
long  line  of  English  heroes,' — that  the  brave  men  who 
fought  at  Sobraon  and  Feroozeshah  are  the  true  descend¬ 
ants  of  those  who  fought  at  Cressy  and  Poitiers. 

And  not  to  soldiers  only,  but  to  all  who  are  engaged 
in  the  long  warfare  of  life,  is  his  conduct  an  example. 
To  unite  in  our  lives  the  two  qualities  expressed  in  his 
motto,  Hocli  Mutli  and  Ich  dim , —  “high  spirit”  and 
“  reverent  service,”  —  is  to  be,  indeed,  not  only  a  true 
gentleman  and  a  true  soldier,  but  a  true  Christian  also. 
To  show  to  all  who  differ  from  us,  not  only  in  war  but 
in  peace,  that  delicate  forbearance,  that  fear  of  hurting 
another’s  feelings,  that  happy  art  of  saying  the  right 
thing  to  the  right  person,  which  he  showed  to  the  cap¬ 
tive  king,  would  indeed  add  a  grace  and  a  charm  to  the 
whole  course  of  this  troublesome  world,  such  as  none 
can  afford  to  lose,  whether  high  or  low.  Happy  are 
they  who  having  this  gift  by  birth  or  station  use  it  for 


186  THE  FIRST  GREAT  ENGLISH  CAPTAIN. 


its  highest  purposes  ;  still  more  happy  are  they  who 
having  it  not  by  birth  and  station  have  acquired  it,  as 
it  may  be  acquired,  by  Christian  gentleness  and  Chris¬ 
tian  charity. 

And  lastly,  to  act  in  all  the  various  difficulties  of  our 
every-day  life  with  that  coolness  and  calmness,  and 
faith  in  a  higher  power  than  his  own,  which  he  showed 
when  the  appalling  danger  of  his  situation  burst  upon 
him  at  Poitiers,  would  smooth  a  hundred  difficulties 
and  insure  a  hundred  victories.  We  often  think  that 
we  have  no  power  in  ourselves,  no  advantages  of  posi¬ 
tion,  to  help  us  against  our  many  temptations,  to  over¬ 
come  the  many  obstacles  we  encounter.  Let  us  take 
our  stand  by  the  Black  Prince’s  tomb,  and  go  back  once 
more  in  thought  to  the  distant  fields  of  France.  A 
slight  rise  in  the  wild  upland  plain,  a  steep  lane  through 
vineyards  and  underwood,  —  this  was  all  that  he  had, 
humanly  speaking,  on  his  side ;  but  he  turned  it  to  the 
utmost  use  of  which  it  could  be  made,  and  won  the 
most  glorious  of  battles.  So,  in  like  manner,  our  ad¬ 
vantages  may  be  slight,  —  hardly  perceptible  to  any  but 
ourselves,  —  let  us  turn  them  to  account,  and  the  re¬ 
sults  will  be  a  hundred-fold  ;  we  have  only  to  adopt  the 
Black  Prince’s  bold  and  cheering  words  when  first  he 
saw  his  enemies,  “  God  is  my  help,  I  must  fight  them  as 
best  I  can;”  adding  that  lofty  yet  resigned  and  humble 
prayer  which  he  uttered  when  the  battle  was  an¬ 
nounced  to  be  inevitable,  and  which  has  since  become 
a  proverb,  — “  God  defend  the  right.” 


APPENDIX  AND  NOTES. 


By  MR.  ALBERT  WAY. 


I.  —  Ordinance  by  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  for  the  Two 
Chantries,  founded  by  him  in  the  Undercroft  of 
the  South  Transept,  Christ  Church,  Canterbury. 
Recited  in  the  Confirmation  by  Simon  Islip,  Arch¬ 
bishop  of  Canterbury,  of  the  Assent  and  Ratification 
by  the  Prior  and  Chapter.  Dated  August  4,  1363. 

Orig.  Charter  in  the  Treasury ,  Canterbury ,  No.  145.1 

Universis  sancte  matris  ecclesie  filiis  ad  quos  presentes 
litere  provenerint,  Prior  et  Capitulum  ecclesie  Christi  Can- 
tuariensis  salutem  in  omnium  Salvatore.  Ordinacionem 
duarum  Cantariarum  in  ecclesia  predicta  fundatarum,  unius 
videlicet  in  honore  Sancte  Trinitatis,  et  alterius  in  honore 
Yirginis  gloriose,  inspeximus  diligenter,  Cujus  quidem  or- 
dinacionis  tenor  sequitur  in  hec  verba.  Excellencia  principis 
a  regali  descend ens  prosap ia,  quanto  in  sua  posteritate  am- 
plius  diffunditur  et  honorificencius  sublimatur,  tanto  ad 
serviendum  Deo  prompcior  esse  debet,  et  cum  devota  gra- 
ciarum  accione  capud  suum  sibi  humiliter  inclinare,  ne  aliter 
pro  ingratitudine  tanti  muneris  merito  sibi  subtraliatur 
beneficium  largitiors.  Sane  nos,  Edwardus,  Princeps  Wallie 

1  This  document  is  copied  in  the  Registers  B.  2,  fo.  46,  and  F.  8,  fo.  83, 
v°,  under  this  title,  “  Littera  de  Institucione  duarum  cantariarum  domini 
Principis.”  In  the  text  here  given  the  contracted  words  are  printed  in  ex- 
tenso.  I  acknowledge  with  much  gratification  the  privilege  liberally  granted 
to  me  of  examining  the  ancient  charters  in  the  Treasury,  amongst  which 
this  unpublished  document  has  been  found. 


188 


ORDINANCE  BY  THE  BLACK  PRINCE 


et  serenissimi  Principis  ac  domini  nostri,  domini  Edwardi 
illustris  Regis  Anglie,  primogenitus,  pridem  cupientes  ad 
exaltacionem  paterni  solii  nobis  mulierem  de  genere  suo 
clarissimo  recipere  in  sociam  et  uxorem,  denmm  post  de- 
liberaciones  varias  super  diversis  nobis  oblatis  matrimo- 
niis,  ad  nobilem  mulierem,  dominam  Johannam  Comitissam 
Kancie,  consanguineam  dicti  patris  nostri  et  nostram,  ipsam 
videlicet  in  secundo,  et  nos  in  tercio  consanguinitatis  gra- 
dibus  contingentem,  Dei  pocius  inspirante  gracia  quam 
hominis  suasione,  convertimus  totaliter  mentem  nostram, 
et  ipsam,  de  consensu  dicti  domini  patris  nostri  et  aliorum 
parent um  nostrorum,  dispensacione  sedis  apostolice  super 
impedimento  hujusmodi  et  aliis  quibus  libet  primitus  ob- 
tenta,  preelegimus  et  assumpsimus  in  uxorem ;  Injuncto 
nobis  etiam  per  prius  eadem  auctoritate  apostolica  quod 
duas  Cantarias  quadraginta  Marcarum  obtentu  dispensa- 
cionis  predicte  ad  honorem  Dei  perpetuas  faceremus.1  Nos 
vero,  in  Deo  sperantes  firmiter  per  acceptacionem  humilem 
Injunccionis  hujus,  et  efficax  ipsius  complementum  nupcias 
nostras  Deo  reddere  magis  placabiles,  et  paternum  solium 
per  adeo  sibi  propinque  sobolis  propagacionem  condecenter 
diffundere  et  firmius  stabilire,  ad  honorem  Sancte  Trinitatis, 
quam  peculiari  devocione  semper  colimus,  et  beatissime 
Marie,  et  beati  Thome  Martyris,  infra  muros  ecclesie  Christi 
Cantuariensis,  matris  nostre  precipue  et  metropolitis,  ad 
quam  a  cunabilis  2  nostris  devocionem  mentis  ereximus,  in 
quodam  loco  ex  parte  australi  ejusdem  ecclesie  constituto, 
quern  ad  hoc,  de  consensu  reverendissimi  in  Christo  patris, 
domini  Simouis  Dei  gracia  Cantuariensis  Arcliiepiscopi, 
tocius  Anglie  Primatis  et  apostolice  sedis  Legati,  et  religi- 
osorum  virorum  Prioris  et  Capituli  ipsius  ecclesie,  designavi- 
mus,  duas  capellas,  quarum  una  Sancte  Trinitatis  intitula- 
bitur,  et  altera  beate  et  gloriose  Yirginis  Marie,  sub  duabus 
cantariis  duximus  construendas,  ut  sic  ad  dictam  ecclesiam 

1  See  the  Bulls  of  Pope  Innocent  VI.,  concerning  the  marriage  of  the 
Prince  with  the  Countess  of  Kent,  Rymer,  Feed,  deit  1830,  vol.  iii.  part  ii. 
pp.  627,  632.  2  Sic  in  the  original. 


FOR  THE  TWO  CHANTRIES. 


189 


confluentes,  et  capellas  nostras  intuentes,  pro  conjugii  nostri 
prosperitate  animarumque  nostrarum  salute  deum  exorare 
propencius  excitentur.  In  nostris  vero  Cantariis  ex  nunc 
volumus  et  statuimus,  quod  sint  duo  sacerdotes  idonei, 
sobrii  et  honesti,  non  contenciosi,  non  querelarum  aut  litium 
assumptores,  non  incontinentes,  aut  aliter  notabiliter  viciosi, 
quorum  correccio,  punicio,  admissio  et  destitucio  ad  Archi- 
episcopum,  qui  tempore  fuerit,  loci  diocesanum  pertineat  et 
debeat  pertinere,  eorem  tamen  statum  volumus  esse  per- 
petuum,  nisi  per  mensem  et  amplius  a  Cantariis  suis 
hujusmodi  absque  causa  racionabili  et  licencia  a  domino 
Cantuariensi  Archiepiscopo,  si  in  diocesi  sua  presens  fuerit, 
vel  aliter  a  Priore  dicti  monasterii,  petita  pariter  et  optenta, 
absentes  fuerint ;  vel  nisi  viciosi  et  insolentes  trina  moni- 
cione  per  temporum  competencium  intervalla,  vel  aliter 
trina  correccione  emendati,  ab  insolenciis  suis  desistere  non 
curaverint ;  quos  tunc  incorrigibiles  seu  intolerabiles  cense- 
mus,  et  volumus  per  predictum  ordinarium  reputari,  et 
propterea  a  dicta  Cantaria  penitus  amoveri,  nulla  appella- 
cione  aut  impetracione  sedis  Apostolice  vel  regis,  aut  alii 1 
juris  communis  seu  spiritualis  remedio  amoto  hujusmodi 
aliqualiter  valitura.  Primum  vero  et  principaliorem  domi- 
num  Johannem  Curteys,  de  Weldone,  et  dominum  Willel- 
mum  Bateman,  de  Giddingg’,  secundarium,  in  eisdem  nomi- 
namus  et  colistituimus  sacerdotes,  quorum  principalis  in 
altari  Sancte  Trinitatis,  et  alter  in  altari  beate  Marie,  cum 
per  dominum  Archiepiscopum  admissi  fuerint,  pro  statu 
salubri  nostro,  prosperitate  matrimonii  nostri,  dum  vixeri- 
mus,  et  animabus  nostris,  cum  ab  hac  luce  subtracti  fueri- 
mus,  cotidie  celebrabunt,  nisi  infirmitate  aut  alia  causa 
racionabili  fuerint  perpediti.  Cum  vero  alter  eorum  ces- 
serit  loco  suo,  vel  decesserit,  aut  ipsum  dimiserit,  Nos,  Ed- 
wardus  pred ictus,  in  vita  nostra,  et  post  mortem  nostram 
Rex  Anglie,  qui  pro  tempore  fuerit,  ad  locum  sit  vacantem 
quem  pro  tunc  secundum  censemus  quam  cicius  comode 

1  This  word  is  contracted  in  the  original  al'.  The  reading  may  be  alii 
or  aliter . 


190 


ORDINANCE  BY  THE  BLACK  PRINCE 


poterimus,  saltern  infra  unius  mensis  spacium,  dicto  domino 
Archiepiscopo  presentabimus  et  nominabimus  ydoneum  sa- 
cerdotem  ;  et  sic,  quocienscunque  vacaverit,  imperpetuum 
volumus  observari.  Alioquin  elapso  hujusmodi  tempore 
liceat  Archiepiscopo  ilia  vice  loco  sic  vacante  de  sacerdote 
ydoneo  providere,  salvo  jure  nostro  et  successorum  nostro- 
rum  in  hac  parte,  ut  prefertur,  in  proxima  vacatione  alterius 
sacerdotis.  Volumus  insuper  et  ordinamus  quod  dictus 
Archiepiscopus,  qui  fuerit,  significata  sibi  morte  per  literas 
nostras  aut  successorum  nostrorum  hujusmodi  vel  aliter  per 
literas  Capellani  qui  supervixerit,  aliquo  sigillo  autentico 
roboratas,  statim  absque  inquisicione  alia  sive  difficultate 
qualibet  presentatum  seu  nominatum  hujusmodi  admittat,  et 
literas  suas  suo  consacerdoti  et  non  alteri  super  admissione 
sua  dirigat  sive  mittat.  Dicent  vero  dicti  sacerdotes  insimul 
matutinas  et  ceteras  horas  canonicas  in  capella,  videlicet 
sancte  Trinitatis,  necnon  et  septem  psalmos  penitenciales 
et  quindecim  graduates  et  commendacionem  ante  prandium, 
captata  ad  hoc  una  hora  vel  pluribus,  prout  viderint  expe- 
dire.  Et  post  prandium  vesperas  et  completorium  necnon 
placebo  et  dirige  pro  defunctis.  Celebrabit  insuper  uterque 
ipsorum  singulis  diebus  prout  sequitur,  nisi  aliqua  causa 
legitima  sicut  premittitur  fuerint  prepediti,  unus  eorum 
videlicet  singulis  diebus  dominicis  de  die,  si  voluerit,  vel 
aliter  de  Trinitate,  et  alter  eorum  de  officio  mortuorum, 
vel  aliter  de  beata  Virgine  Maria.  Feria  secunda  unus  de 
festo  novem  lectionum,  si  acciderit,  vel  aliter  de  Angelis, 
et  alius  de  officio  mortuorum,  vel  de  Virgine  gloriosa. 
Feria  tercia  alter  eorum  de  beato  Thoma,  et  alius  de  beata 
Virgine  vel  officio  mortuorum,  nisi  aliquod  festum  novem 
leccionum  advenerit,  tunc  enim  missa  de  beato  Thoma  po- 
terit  pretermitti.  Feria  quarta,  si  a  festo  novem  leccio¬ 
num  vacaverit,  unus  de  Trinitate  et  alter  de  beata  Maria 
virgine  vel  officio  mortuorum.  Feria  quinta  unus  de  festo 
Corporis  Christi,  et  alius  de  beata  Virgine  vel  officio  mor¬ 
tuorum,  si  a  festo  novem  leccionum  vacaverit.  Feria  sexta, 
si  a  festo  novem  leccionum  vacaverit,  unus  de  beata  Cruce 


FOR  THE  TWO  CHANTRIES. 


191 


et  alter  de  beata  Yirgine  vel  officio  mortuorum.  Singulis 
diebus  sabbati,  si  a  festo  novem  leccionem  vacaverit,  unus 
de  beata  Yirgine  et  alter  de  officio  mortuorum.  Et  hoc 
modo  celebrabunt  singulis  diebus  imperpetuum,  et  non 
celebrabunt  simul  et  eadem  hora,  sed  unus  post  alium, 
successive.  Ante  vero  intro itum  missi  quilibet  rogabit  et 
rogari  publice  faciat  celebrans  pro  statu  salubri  utriusque 
nostrum  dum  vixerimus,  et  pro  animabus  nostris,  cum  ab 
hac  luce  migraverimus,  et  dicet  Pater  et  Ave,  et  in  singulis 
missis  suis  dum  vixerimus  de  quocunque  celebraverint  col- 
lectam  illam,  — “Deuscujus  misericordie  non  est  numerus,” 
et,  cum  ab  hac  miseria  decesserimus,  —  “  Deus  venie  lar- 
gitor,”  cum  devocione  debita  recitabunt.  Et  volumus  quod 
post  missas  suas  vel  ante,  secundum  eorum  discrecionem 
differendum  vel  anticipandum,  cum  doctor  aut  lector  alius 
in  claustro  monachorum  more  solito  legerit  ibidem,  nisi 
causa  legitima  prepediti  fuerint,  personaliter  intersint,  et 
doctrine  sue  corditer  intendant,  ut  sic  magis  edocti  Deo 
devocius  et  perfectius  obsequantur.  Principali  vero  sacer- 
dote  de  medio  sublato,  aut  aliter  loco  suo  qualitercumque 
vacante,  socius  suus,  qui  tunc  superstes  fuerit,  sicut  pre- 
diximus  locum  Principaliorem  occupabit,  et  secundum  lo¬ 
cum  tenebit  novus  assumendus.  Ordinamus  etiam  quod 
dicti  sacerdotes  singulis  annis  semel  ad  minus  de  eadem 
secta  vestiantur,  et  quod  non  utantur  brevibus  vestimentis 
sed  talaribus  secundum  decenciam  sui  status.  Pro  mora 
siquidem  dictorum  sacerdotum  assignavimus  quemdam  habi- 
tacionis  locum  juxta  Elemosinariam  dicti  Monasterii,  in  quo 
construetur  ad  usum  et  habitacionem  eorum  una  Aula  com¬ 
munis  in  qua  simul  cotidianam  sument  refeccionem,  una 
cum  quadam  Camera  per  Cancellum  dividenda,  ita  quod  in 
utraque  parte  sic  divisa  sit  locus  suffieiens  pro  uno  lecto 
competenti,  necnon  et  pro  uno  camino  nostris  sumptibus 
erigendo.  Ita  tamen  quod  camera  hujusmodi  unicum  ha- 
beat  ostium  pro  Capellanorum  ingressu  et  egressu.  Cujus 
locum  divisum  viciniorem  principaliori  sacerdoti  intitulari 
volumus  et  mandamus ;  sub  qua  Camera  officia  eis  utilia 


192 


ORDINANCE  BY  THE  BLACK  PRINCE 


constituent  prout  eis  magis  viaebitur  expedire.  Coquinam 
etiam  habebunt  competentem  ;  quas  quidem  domus  nostris 
primo  sumptibus  construendas  prefati  religiosi  viri.  Prior  et 
Capitulum,  quociens  opus  fuerit,  reparabunt  ac  eciam  re- 
formabunt.  De  habitacione  vero  ipsorum  hujusmodi  libe¬ 
rum  habebunt  ingressum  ad  dictas  capellas,  et  regressum 
pro  temporibus  et  Boris  competentibus,  ac  retroactis  tempo- 
ribus  pro  ingressu  secularium  consuetis.  Comedent  eciam 
insimul  in  Aula  sua  cum  perfecta  fuerit,  in  ipsorum  quo- 
que  cameris,  et  non  alibi,  requiescent.  Ad  hec  dicti 
sacerdotes  vestimenta  et  alia  ornamenta  dicte  Capelle  as- 
signanda  fideliter  conservabunt,  et  cum  mundacione  aut 
reparacione  aliqua  indigerint,  predicti  religiosi  viri,  Prior 
et  Capitulum  suis  sumptibus  facient  reparari,  et  alia  nova 
quociens  opus  fuerit  inveteratis  et  inutilibus  subrogabunt. 
Percipiet  quidem  uterque  eorundem  sacerdotum  annis  sin¬ 
gulis  de1  Priore  et  Capitulo  supradictis  viginti  marcas  ad 
duos  anni  terminos,  videlicet,  ad  festa  sancti  Michaelis  et 
Pasche,  per  equal es  porciones,  necnon  ab  eisdem  Priore 
et  Capitulo  ministrabitur  ipsis  Capellanis  de  pane,  vino,  et 
cera,  ad  sufficienciam,  pro  divinis  officiis  celebrandis.  Ita 
videlicet  quod  in  matutinis,  vesperis  et  horis  sit  continue 
cereus  unus  accensus,  et  missa  quacumque  duo  alii  cerei  ad 
utrumque  altare  predictum.  Quod  si  prefati  Prior  et  Capi¬ 
tulum  dictas  pecunie  summas  in  aliquo  dictorum  termi- 
norum,  cessante  causa  legitima,  solvere  distulerint  ultra 
triginta  dies  ad  majus,  extunc  sint  ipso  facto  ab  execucione 
divinorum  officiorum,  suspensi,  quousque  ipsis  Capellanis  de 
arreragiis  fuerit  plenarie  satisfactum.  Pro  supportacione 
vero  predictorum  onerum  dictis  Priori  et  Capitulo,  ut  pre- 
mittitur,  incumbencium,  de  licencia  excellentissimi  Principis 
domini  patris  nostri  supradicti  dedimus,  concessimus  et 
assignavimus  eisdem  Priori  et  Capitulo,  eorumque  succes- 
soribus,  manerium  nostrum  de  Faukeshalle  juxta  London  ’, 
prout  in  cartis  ejusdem  patris  nostri  et  nostris  plenius 
continetur.  Jurabit  insuper  uterque  eorundem  sacerdotum 
1  In  the  original,  et  Priore. 


FOR  THE  TWO  CHANTRIES. 


193 


coram  domino  Archiepiscopo,  qui  pro  tempore  fuerit,  in  ad- 
missione  sua,  quod  hanc  ordinacionem  nostram  observabit 
et  faciet,  quantum  eum  concernit  et  sibi  facultas  prestabitur, 
in  omnibus  observari.  Jurabunt  insuper  iidem  sacerdotes 
Priori  dicti  Loci  obedienciam,  et  quod  nullum  dampnum 
inferent  dicto  monasterio  vel  personis  ejusdem  injuriam  seu 
gravamen.  Rursum,  si  in  presenti  nostra  ordinacione  pro- 
cessu  temporis  inveniatur  aliquod  dubium  seu  obscurum, 
illud  interpretandi,  innovandi,  corrigendi  et  eidem  ordina- 
cioni  nostre  addendi,  diminuendi  et  declarandi,  nobis  quam- 
diu  vixerimus,  et  post  mortem  nostram  reverendo  patri, 
domino  Archiepiscopo  Cantuariensi,  qui  pro  tempore  fuerit, 
specialiter  reservamus.1  Cui  quidem  ordinacioni  sic  salu- 
briter  composite  et  confecte  tenore  presencium  nostrum 
prebemus  assensum,  onera  nobis  in  eadem  imposita  agnos- 
cimus,  et  cetera  in  eadem  ordinacione  contenta,  quantum 
ad  nos  attinet  vel  attinere  in  futurum  poterit,  approbamus, 
ratificamus,  et  eciam  confirmamus.  In  quorum  omnium 
testimonium  sigillum  nostrum  commune  presentibus  est 
appensum.  Datum  in  domo  nostra  Capitulari  Cantuar’  ij*. 
Non’  Augusti,  Anno  domini  Millesimo  Trescentesimo  sexa- 
gesimo  tercio.  Et  nos,  Simon,  permissione  divina  Archi- 
episcopus  Cantuariensis,  supradictus,  permissa  omnia  et 
singula  quatenus  ad  nos  attinet  autorizamus,  approbamus, 
ratificamus  et  tenore  presencium  auctoritate  nostra  ordinaria 
confirmamus.  In  cujus  rei  testimonium  sigillum  nostrum  fe- 
cimus  hiis  apponi.  Datum  eciam  Cantuar’  die,  anno  et  loco 
supradictis,  et  nostre  consecracionis  anno  quartodecimo. 

(L.  S.  Seal  lost.) 

Endorsed. — Confirmacio  Archiepiscopi  et  Convent  us  super 

Cantarias  Edwardi  principis  "Wallie  in  ecclesia  nostra  in 

criptis.2  In  a  later  hand,  —  Duplex. 

1  The  word  jus  seems  to  be  omitted  in  this  sentence,  of  which  the  sense 
as  it  stands  is  incomplete.  Here  the  recital  of  the  Ordinance  ends. 

2  This  document  bears  the  following  numbers,  by  which  it  has  been 
classed  at  various  times:  45  (erased.)  —  Duplex  vi.  (erased)  A — C.  166. 
—  C.  145;  the  latter  being  the  right  reference,  according  to  the  Indices  now 
in  use. 


13 


194 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


II.— THE  WILL  OF  EDWARD  PRINCE  OF  WALES, 
a.  d.  1376.1 

Copia  Testamenti  Principis  Wall’. 

{Register  of  Archbishop  Sudbury,  in  the  Registry  at  Lambeth,  fol.  90  b, 
and  91  a  and  b .) 

En  noun  du  Pere,  du  Filz,  et  de  Saint  Espirit,  Amen.  Nous, 
Eduuard,  eisne  filz  du  Roy  d’Engletere  et  de  Fraunce,  prince 
de  Gales,  due  de  Cornwaille,  et  counte  de  Cestre,  le  vij.  jour 
de  Juyn,  l’an  de  grace  mil  troiscentz  septantz  et  sisme,  en 
notre  chambre  dedeyns  le  palois  de  notre  tresredote  seig- 
nour  et  pere  le  Roy  a  WestTn  esteantz  en  bon  et  sain  me- 
moire,  et  eiantz  consideracion  a  le  brieve  duree  de  humaine 
freletee,  et  come  non  certein  est  le  temps  de  sa  resolucion  & 
la  divine  volunte,  et  desiranz  toujourz  d’estre  prest  ove 
l’eide  de  dieu  &  sa  disposicioun,  ordenons  et  fesons  notre 
testament  en  la  manere  qe  ensuyt.  Primerement  nous 
devisons  notre  alme  a  Dieu  notre  Creatour,  et  a  la  seinte 
benoite  Trinite  et  a  la  glorieuse  virgine  Marie,  et  a  tous  lez 
sainz  et  seintez;  et  notre  corps  d’estre  enseveliz  en  l’eglise 
Cathedrale  de  la  Trinite  de  Canterbirs,  ou  le  corps  du  vray 
martir  monseignour  Seint  Thomas  repose,  en  mylieu  de  la 
chapelle  de  notre  dame  Under  Croft e,  droitement  devant 
Tautier,  siqe  le  bout  de  notre  tombe  devers  les  pees  soit  dix 
peez  loinz  de  Tautier,  et  qe  mesme  la  tombe  soit  de  marbre 
de  bone  masonerie  faite.  Et  volons  qe  entour  la  ditte  tombe 
soient  dusze  escuchons  de  latone,  chacun  de  la  largesse  d’un 
pie,  dont  les  syx  seront  de  noz  armez  entiers,  et  les  autres  six 

1  The  following  document  was  printed  by  Mr.  Nichols  in  his  “  Collec¬ 
tion  of  Royal  Wills,”  p.  66.  It  is  here  given  with  greater  accuracy, 
through  careful  collation  of  the  transcript  in  Archbishop  Sudbury’s  Reg¬ 
ister  at  Lambeth.  The  remarkable  interest  of  the  will  as  connected  with 
the  Prince’s  interment  and  tomb  at  Canterbury  may  fully  justify  its 
reproduction  in  this  volume. 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


195 


des  plumz  d’ostruce,  et  qe  sur  chacun  escuchon  soit  escript, 
c’est  assaveir  sur  cellez  de  noz  armez  et  sur  les  autres  des 
plumes  d’ostruee,  —  Houmout.1  Et  paramont 2  la  tombe  soit 
fait  un  tablement  de  latone  suzorrez  de  largesse  et  longure 
de  meisme  la  tombe,  sur  quel  nouz  volons  qe  un  ymage 
d’overeigne  levez  de  latoun  suzorrez  soit  mys  en  memorial 
de  nous,  tout  armez  de  tier  de  guerre  de  nous  armez  quar- 
tillez  et  le  visage  mie,  ove  notre  heaume  du  leopard  mys 
dessouz  la  teste  del  ymage,  Et  volons  qe  sur  notre  tombe 
en  lieu  ou  len  le  purra  plus  clerement  lire  en  veoir  soit  es¬ 
cript  ce  qe  ensuit,  en  la  manere  qe  sera  mielz  avis  a  noz 
executours  :  — ■ 

Tu  qe  passez  ove  bouche  close,  par  la  ou  cest  corps  repose 
Entent  ce  qe  te  dirray,  sicome  te  dire  la  say, 

Tiel  come  tu  es,  Je  au  del  3  fu,  Tu  seras  tiel  come  Je  su, 

De  la  mort  ne  pensay  je  mie,  Taut  come  j’avoy  la  vie. 

En  terre  avoy  grand  richesse,  dont  Je  y  fys  grand  noblesse, 

Terre,  mesons,  et  grand  tresor,  draps,  chivalx,  argent  et  or. 

Mes  ore  su  je  povres  et  cheitifs,  perfond  en  la  terre  gys, 

Ma  grand  beaute  est  tout  alee,  Ma  char  est  tout  gastee, 

Moult  est  estroite  ma  meson,  En  moy  na  si  verite  non, 

Et  si  ore  me  veissez,  Je  ne  quide  pas  qe  vous  deeisez, 

Qe  j’eusse  onqes  hom  este,  si  su  je  ore  de  tout  changee. 

Pur  Dieu  pries  au  celestien  4  Roy,  qe  mercy  eit  de  l’arme  5  de  moy 

1  The  escutcheons  on  the  Prince’s  tomb  are  not  in  conformity  with  these 
directions.  Over  those  charged  with  his  arms  appears  the  word  lxoumout 
on  a  little  scroll,  whilst  over  those  bearing  the  three  ostrich  feathers  is  the 
motto,  ich  diene.  There  is  probably  an  omission  in  the  transcript  of  this 
passage  in  the  Lambeth  Register.  The  reading  in  the  original  document 
may  have  been,  “  Sur  cellez  de  noz  armez — ich  diene  —  est  sur  les  autres 
des  plumes  d’ostruce  —  houmout.”  Representations  of  these  escutcheons 
as  also  of  the  altar  tomb,  showing  their  position,  were  given,  with  the 
beautiful  etchings  of  the  figure  of  the  Prince,  in  Stothard’s  Monumental 
Effigies.  Representations  on  a  larger  scale  will  be  found  in  the  notes 
subjoined.  See  pages  207,  208. 

2  “  Par-amont,  en  haut.”  —  Roquefort. 

3  Thus  in  the  manuscript.  On  the  tomb  the  reading  here  is  autiel ; 
doubtless  the  word  intended.  “  Auteil ;  pareil,  de  meme.”  —  Roquefort. 

4  The  correct  reading  may  be  celestieu.  Roquefort  gives  both  celestiau 
and  celestien. 

3  Thus  written,  as  likewise  on  the  tomb.  Roquefort  gives  “  Arme  ; 
ame,  esprit,”  etc. 


196 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


Tout  cil  qe  pur  moi  prieront,  ou  a  Dieu  m’acorderont, 

Dieu  les  mette  en  son  parays,1  (sic)  ou  uul  ne  poet  estre  cheitifs.2 

Et  volons  qe  a  quele  heure  qe  notre  corps  soit  amenez  par 
my  la  ville  de  Canterbirs  tantqe  &  la  priorie,  qe  deux  destrex 
covertz  de  noz  armez,  et  deux  hommez  armez  en  noz  armez 
et  en  noz  heaumes  voisent  devant  dit  notre  corps,  c’est  assa- 
voir,  Tun  pur  la  guerre  de  noz  armez  entiers  quartellez,  et 
l'autre  pur  la  paix  de  noz  bages  des  plumes  d’ostruce  ove 
quatre  baneres  de  mesme  la  sute,  et  qe  chacum  de  ceux  qe 
porteront  lez  ditz  baneres  ait  sur  sa  teste  un  chapeu  de  noz 
armes.  Et  qe  celi  qe  sera  armez  pur  la  guerre  ait  un  homme 
armez  portant  a  pres  li  un  penon  de  noir  ove  plumes  d’ostruce. 
Et  volons  qe  le  herce  soit  fait  entre  le  haut  autier  et  le  cuer, 
dedeyns  le  quel  nous  voloms  qe  notre  corps  soit  posee,  tant¬ 
qe  les  vigiliez,  messes  et  les  divines  services  soient  faites  ; 
lesquelx  services  ensi  faitez,  soit  notre  corps  portes  en  l’avant 
dite  chappelle  de  notre  dame  ou  il  sera  ensevillez.  Item,  nous 
donnons  et  devisoms  al  haut  autier  de  la  dite  eglise  notre 
vestement  de  velvet  vert  embroudez  d’or,  avec  tout  ce  qe 
apperptient  (sic)  au  dit  vestement.  Item,  deux  bacyns  d’or 
un  chalix  avec  le  pat.yn  d’or,  noz  armez  graves  sur  le  pie,  et 
deux  cruetz  d’or,  et  un  ymage  de  la  Trinite  a  mettre  sur  le 
dit  autier,  et  notre  grande  croix  d’argent  suzorrez  et  enamel- 
lez,  c’est  assavoir  la  meliour  croix  qe  nous  avons  d’argent ; 
toutes  lesqueles  chosez  nouz  donnons  et  devisons  au  dit  au¬ 
tier  a  y  servir  perpetuelement,  sainz  jammes  le  mettre  en 
autre  oeps  pur  nul  mischiefs.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  devi¬ 
sons  al  autier  de  notre  dame  en  la  chappelle  surdite  notre 
blank  vestiment  tout  entier  diapree  d’une  vine 8  d’azure,  et 

1  Mr.  Nichols  printed  this  word  paradys  as  Weever,  Dart,  Sandford, 
and  others  had  given  it.  On  the  tomb  the  reading  is  paray ,  which  usu¬ 
ally  signifies  in  old  French,  paroi,  mur,  Lat.  paries.  Compare  Roque¬ 
fort,  “  Paradis,  parehuis,  parvis,  place  qui  est  devant  une  eglise,  etc., 
en  has  Lat.  parvisius.” 

2  The  inscription  as  it  actually  appears  on  the  tomb  is  not  literally  in 
accordance  with  the  transcript  here  given,  but  the  various  readings  are  not 
of  importance.  The  inscription  is  given  accurately  by  Mr.  Kempe  in  the 
account  of  the  tomb,  in  Stothard’s  Monumental  Effigies. 

3  This  word  is  printed  by  Mr.  Nichols  vine.  The  white  tissue  was 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


197 


anxi  le  frontel  qe  l’evesqe  d’Excestre  nous  donna,  q’est  de  l’as- 
surnpcion  de  notre  dame  en  mylieu  severee  d’or  et  d'autre 
ymagerie,  et  un  tabernacle  de  Passumpcioun  de  notre  dame, 
qe  le  dit  evesqe  nous  donna  auxi,  et  deux  grandez  chande- 
labres  d’argent  qe  sont  tortillez,  et  deux  bacyns  de  noz  armez 
et  un  grand  chalix  suzorre  et  enameillez  des  armez  de  Gar- 
renne,  ove  deux  cruetz  taillez  come  deux  angeles,  pur  servir 
a  mesme  l’autier  perpetuelement,  sainz  jamez  le  mettre  en 
autre  oeps  pur  nul  meschief.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  devi- 
sons  notre  sale  1  des  plumes  d’ostruce  de  tapicerie  noir  et  la 
bordure  rouge,  ove  cignes  ove  testez  de  dames,  cest  assavoir 
un  dossier,  et  huyt  pieces  pur  lez  costers,  et  deux  banqueres, 
a  la  dit  esglise  de  Canterbirs.  Et  volons  qe  le  dossier  soit 
taillez  ensi  come  mielz  sera  avis  a  noz  executours  pur  servir 
devant  et  entour  le  haut  autier,  et  ce  qe  ne  busoignera  a 
servir  illec  du  remenant  du  dit  dossier,  et  auxi  les  ditz  ban¬ 
queres,  volons  qe  soit  departiz  a  servir  devant  Fautier  la  ou 
monseignour  saint  Thomas  gist,  et  it  l’autier  la  ou  la  teste 
est,  et  a  l’autier  la  ou  la  poynte  de  l’espie  est,  et  entour 
notre  corps  en  la  dite  chappelle  de  notre  dame  Undercrofte, 
si  avant  come  il  purra  suffiere.  Et  voloms  qe  les  costres  de 
la  dit  Sale  soient  pur  pendre  en  le  quer  tout  d  u  long  para- 
mont  les  estallez,  et  en  ceste  manere  ordenons  ^  servir  et 
estre  user  en  memorial  de  nous,  k  la  feste  de  la  Trinite,  et 
a  toutz  lez  principalez  festes  de  l’an,  et  a  lez  festes  et  jour 
de  Monseignour  saint  Thomas,  et  a  toutez  lez  festes  de  notre 
dame,  et  les  jours  auxi  de  notre  anniversaire  perpetuelement, 
tant  come  ils  purront  durer  sainz  jamez  estre  mys  en  autre 
oeps.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  devisons  a  notre  chapelle  de 
ceste  notre  dite  dame  Undercrofte,  en  la  quele  nous  avoms 
fondes  une  chanterie  de  deux  chapellayns  a  chanter  pur  nous 
perpetuelement,  nostre  missal  et  nostre  portehors,  lesquelx 

probably  diapered  with  a  trailing  or  branched  pattern  in  azure,  in  form  of 
a  vine. 

1  A  complete  set  of  hangings  for  a  chamber  was  termed  a  ‘‘Hall  ”  ( salle ), 
and  by  analogy  a  large  tent  or  pavilion  formed  of  several  pieces  was  called  a 
“  Hall the  hangings  ( aulceci )  were  also  called  “  Hallynges.” 


198 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


nous  mesmes  avons  fait  faire  et  enlimyner  de  noz  armures  en 
diversez  lieux,  et  auxi  de  nos  bages  dez  plumes  d’ostruce ;  et 
ycelx  missal  et  portehors  ordenons  a  servir  perpetuelement 
en  la  dite  chappelle  sainz  James  le  mettre  en  autre  oeps  pur 
nul  meschief ;  et  de  toutez  cestes  choses  chargeons  les  armes 
des  Priour  et  Couvent  de  la  dite  eglise,  sicome  ils  vorront  re- 
spondre  devant  Dieu.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  divisons  a  la  dite 
chappelle  deux  vestementz  sengles,  cest  assavoir,  aube,  amyt, 
chesyble,  estole  et  fanon,  avec  towaille  covenables  a  chacum 
des  ditz  vestementz,  a  servir  auxi  en  la  dite  chapelle  perpet¬ 
uelement.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  devisons  notre  grand  table 
d’or  et  d’argent  tout  pleyn  dez  precieuses  reliques,  et  en  my 
lieu  un  croix  de  ligno  sancte  crucis,  et  la  dite  table  est  garniz 
di  perres  et  de  perles,  c’est  assavoir,  vingt  cynq  baleis,  trent 
quatre  safirs,  cinquant  oyt  perles  grosses,  et  plusours  autres 
safirs,  emeraudes  et  perles  petitz,  a  la  haut  autier  de  notre 
meson  d’Assherugge  q’est  de  notre  fundacioun,1  a  servir  per¬ 
petuelement  au  dit  autier,  sanz  jamez  le  mettre  en  autre 
oeps  pur  nul  meschief ;  et  de  ce  chargeons  les  armes  du 
Rectour  et  du  Couvent  de  la  dite  meson  a  respondre  devant- 
Dieu.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  devisons  le  remen  ant  de  touz 

1  Mr.  Nichols  supposes  this  to  he  the  Augustine  College  at  Ash  ridge, 
Bucks,  founded  by  Edmund,  Earl  of  Cornwall,  about  1283,  but  he  was  un¬ 
able  to  trace  any  part  taken  by  the  Black  Prince  in  the  affairs  of  that 
house.  In  the  last  edition  of  Dugdale’s  Monasticon,  vi.  515,  it  is  stated 
that  a  copy  of  the  statutes  given  to  this  house  about  a  century  after  the 
foundation  is  preserved  at  Ashridge  House.  These,  therefore,  may  have 
been  given  in  the  times  of  the  Black  Prince. 

A  copy  of  the  Ashridge  Statutes  is  now  at  Ashridge  ;  the  originals  being 
in  the  Episcopal  Registry  of  Lincoln,  They  bear  date  April  20, 1376,  just 
before  the  Prince’s  death.  He  is  expressly  called  the  founder ;  and  the 
reason  given  is,  that  he  granted  money  for  the  maintenance  of  twenty 
brethren,  —  which  was  the  number  of  the  original  foundation,  though,  owing 
to  want  of  funds,  seven  priests  only  had  been  hitherto  on  the  list.  Arch¬ 
deacon  Todd  (in  a  privately  printed  history  of  Berkhamstead)  observes 
that  there  is  a  similar  instance  of  the  Prince  claiming  as  his  own  founda¬ 
tion  what  was  really  founded  by  the  Earl  of  Cornwall  at  Wallingford,  which 
the  Prince  calls  “  notre  chapelle,”  though  he  only  re-established  it. 

For  this  information  I  am  indebted  to  the  Rev.  J.  W.  Cobb,  formerly 
curate  of  Berkhamstead. 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


199 


noz  vestimentz,  draps  d’or,  le  tabernacle  de  la  Resurrec- 
cioun,  deux  cixtes 1  d’argent  suzorrez  et  enameillez  d’une 
sute,  croix,  chalix  cruetz,  chandelabres,  bacyns,  li veres,  et 
touz  noz  autrez  ornementz  appetenantz  a  seinte  eglise,  a 
notre  chapelle  de  saint  Nicholas  dedeynz  notre  cbastel  de 
Walyngforde,2  a  y  servir  et  demurer  perpetuelement,  sanz 
jamez  le  mettre  en  autre  oeps ;  et  de  ceo  chargeons  les 
arrnes  des  doien  et  souz  doyen  de  la  dite  chapelle  a  respon- 
dre  devant  Dieu,  horspris  toutesfoiz  le  vestement  blu  avec 
rosez  d’or  et  plumes  d’ostruce,  liquel  vestement  tout  entier 
avec  tout  ce  qe  appertient  a  ycelle  nous  donnons  et  devisons 
a  notre  filz  Richard,  ensemble  avec  le  lit  qe  nous  avons  de 
mesme  la  sute  et  tout  l’apparaille  du  dit  lit,  lequele  notre 
tresredote  seignour  et  pere  le  Roy  nous  donna.  Item,  nous 
donnons  et  devisons  &  notre  dit  filz  notre  lit  palee  de  baude- 
kyn  et  de  camaca  rouge  q’est  tout  novel,  avec  tout  ce  qe 
appertient  au  dit  lit.  Item,  nous  donons  et  devisons  a 
notre  dit  filz  notre  grand  lit  des  angeles  enbroudez,  avec 
les  quissyns,  tapitz,  coverture,  linceaux  et  tout  entierement 
l’autre  apparalle  appertienant  au  dit  lit.  Item,  nous  don- 
nons  et  devisons  a  notre  dit  filz  la  Sale  d’arras  du  pas  de 
Saladyn,  et  auxi  la  Sale  de  Worstede  embroudez  avec  mer- 
myns  de  mier,  et  la  bordure  de  rouge  de  noir  pales  et  em- 
broudes  de  cignes  ove  testez  de  dames  et  de  plumes  d’ostruce, 
lesqueles  Sales  nous  volons  qe  notre  dit  filz  ait  avec  tout  ce 
qe  appartient  a  ycelle.  Et  quant  a  notre  vesselle  d’argent, 
porce  qe  nous  pen  sons  qe  nous  receumes  avec  notre  com- 
paigne  la  princesse  au  temps  de  notre  mariage,  jusqes  a  la 
value  de  sept  centz  marcs  d’esterlinges  de  la  vesselle  de 
notre  dit  compaigne,  Nous  volons  qe  elle  ait  du  notre  tantqe 
a  la  dite  value ;  et  du  remenant  de  notre  dit  vesselle  nous 
volons  qe  notre  dit  filz  ait  une  partie  covenable  pur  son  estat, 
solonc  l’avis  de  noz  execute urs.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  devi- 

1  Cistes,  cistcs,  shrines. 

2  Of  this  collegiate  chapel,  see  the  last  edition  of  Dugdale’s  Monasticon, 
vi.  1330.  In  1356  the  Prince  had  granted  to  it  the  advowson  of  the  church 
of  Harewell,  Berkshire. 


209 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


sons  a  notre  dit  compaigne  la  princesse  la  Sale  de  Worstede 
rouge  d’egles  et  griffons  embroudez,  avec  la  bordure  de  cignes 
ove  testes  de  dames.  Item,  nous  devisoms  a  Sire  Roger  de 
Claryndone  1  un  lit  de  soie  solonc  l’avis  de  noz  executours, 
avec  tout  ce  qe  appertient  au  dit  lit.  Item,  nous  donnons 
et  devisons  a  Sire  Robert  de  Walsham  notre  confessour  un 
grand  lit  de  rouge  camoca  avec  noz  armes  embroudes  a 
checum  cornere,  et  le  dit  Camaka  est  diapreez  en  li  mesmes 
des  armes  de  Hereford,  avec  le  celure  entiere,  curtyns,  quis- 
syns,  traversin,  tapitz  de  tapiterie,  et  tout  entierment  l’autre 
apparaille.  Item,  nous  donnons  et  devisons  a  mons’r  Alayn 
Cheyne  notre  lit  de  camoca  blank  poudres  d’egles  d’azure, 
c’est  assavoir,  quilte,  dossier,  celure  entiere,  curtyns,  quis- 
syns,  traversyn,  tapiz,  et  tout  entierement  l’autre  apparaille. 
Et  tout  le  remenant  de  noz  biens  et  chateaux  auxi  bien 
vessel  d’or  et  joialx  come  touz  autere  biens  ou  q’ils  soient, 
outre  ceux  qe  nous  avons  dessuz  donnes  et  devisez  come  dit 
est,  auxi  toutez  maneres  des  dettes  a  nous  duex,  en  queconqe 
manere  qe  ce  soit,  ensemble  avec  touz  les  issuez  et  profitz  qe 
purront  sourdre  et  avenir  de  touz  nos  terrez  et  seignouries, 
par  trois  ans  a  pres  ce  qe  dieux  aura  faite  sa  volonte  de  nous, 
lesquelx  profitz  notre  dit  seignour  et  pere  nous  a  ottroiez  pur 
paier  noz  dettetz,  Nous  ordenons  et  devisoms  si  bien  pur  les 
despenz  funerales  qe  convenront  necessairement  estre  faites 
pur  nostre  estat,  come  pur  acquiter  toutez  noz  dettez  par  les 
mains  de  noz  executours,  sique  ils  paient  primerement  les  dis 
despencz  funerales,  et  apres  acquiptent  principalement  toutez 
les  debtes  par  nous  loialement  dehues.  Et  cestes  choses  et 
perfourmez  come  dit  est  si  rien  remeint  de  noz  ditz  biens  et 
chateaux,  nous  volons  qe  adonqes  noz  ditz  executours  solonc 
la  quantite  enguerdonnent  noz  povres  servantz  egalement 

1  Sir  Roger  was  a  natural  son  of  the  Prince,  horn  probably  at  Clarendon, 
and  thence  named.  See  Sandford,  Geneal.  Hist.,  p.  189.  He  was  made  one 
of  the  knights  of  the  chamber  to  his  half-brother,  Richard  II.,  who  granted 
to  him  an  annuity  of  £100  per  annum,  in  1389.  He  bore  Or,  on  a  bend,  Sa, 
three  ostrich  feathers  Arg. ,  the  quills  transfixed  through  as  many  scrolls 
of  the  first. 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


201 


selonc  leur  degreez  et  desertes  si  avant  come  ils  purront 
avoir  informacione  de  ceux  qe  en  ont  melliour  cognissance, 
si  come  ils  en  vorront  respondre  devant  Dieu  au  jour  de 
Juggement,  ou  nul  ne  sera  jugge  qe  un  seul.  Et  quant  a 
les  annuytes  qe  nous  avons  donnes  a  noz  chivalers,  esquiers, 
et  autres  noz  servitours,  en  gueredon  des  services  q’ils  nous 
ont  fait  et  des  travalx  q’ils  ont  eeu  entour  nous,  notre  en- 
tiere  et  darriene  volunte  est  qe  les  dictes  annuytees  estoisent, 
et  qe  touz  ceux  asquelx  nous  les  avons  donnes  en  soient  bien 
et  loialement  serviz  et  paiez,  solonc  le  purport  de  notre  doun 
et  de  noz  letres  quels  en  ont  de  nous.  Et  chargeoms  notre 
filz  Richard  sur  notre  beneson  de  tenir  et  confermer  a  che- 
cum  quantqe  nous  lour  avons  ensi  donnez,  et  si  avant  come 
Dieu  nous  a  donnez  poair  sur  notre  dit  filz  nouz  li  donnons 
notre  malison  s’il  empesche  ou  soeffre  estre  empesches  en 
quantqe  en  il  est  notre  dit  doun.  Et  de  cest  notre  testa¬ 
ment,  liquel  nous  volons  estre  tenuz  et  perfourmez  pur  notre 
darreine  volunte,  fesons  et  ordenons  noz  executors  notre  tres- 
cher  et  tresame  frere  d’Espaigne,  Due  de  Lancastre,  les  rev- 
erenz  peres  en  Dieu,  William  Evesqe  de  Wyncestre,1  Johan 
Evesqe  de  Bathe,2 3  William  Evesqe  de  Saint  Assaphe,8  notre 
trescher  en  Dieu  sire  Robert  de  Walsham  notre  confessour, 
Hughe  de  Segrave  Senescal  de  noz  terres,  Aleyn  de  Stokes, 
et  Johan  de  Fordham ;  lesquelx  nous  prioms,  requerons  et 
chargeoms  de  executer  et  acomplir  loialment  toutez  les 
choses  susdites.  En  tesmoignance  de  toutez  et  checunes  les 
choses  susdites  nous  avons  fait  mettre  a  cest  notre  testament 
et  darreine  volunte  nous  prive  et  secree  sealx,4 * * *  et  avons 

1  William  of  Wykeham,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  1367-1404. 

2  John  Harewell,  Chancellor  of  Gascony  and  Chaplain  to  the  Prince, 
was  Bishop  of  Bath,  1366-1386. 

3  William  de  Springlington  was  appointed  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  Feb.  4, 
1376,  in  the  same  year  that  the  Prince’s  will  is  dated. 

4  This  expression  deserves  notice,  as  showing  the  distinction  between  the 

Sigillum  'privatum  and  the  secretum.  The  seals  of  the  Black  Prince  are 

numerous  ;  eight  are  described  by  Sir  H.  Nicolas  in  his  Memoir  (Archseo- 

logia,  xxxi.  361),  but  none  of  them  are  identified  with  the  seals  above 

mentioned.  The  secree  seal  was  doubtless  the  same  kind  of  seal  described 


202 


WILL  OF  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 


auxi  commandez  notre  notair  dessous  escript  de  mettre  notre 
dite  darriere  volunte  et  testament  en  fourme  publique,  et  de 
soy  souz  escriere  et  le  signer  et  mercher  de'  son  signe  acus- 
tumez,  en  tesmoignance  de  toutez  et  checunes  les  choses 
dessusdictes. 

Et  ego,  Johannes  de  Ormeshevede,  clericus  Karliolensis 
diocesis  publicus  autoritate  apostolica  Notarius,  premissis 
omnibus  et  singulis  dum  sic  ut  premittitur  sub  anno  Dom¬ 
ini  Millesimo,  ccc.  septuagesimo  sexto,  Indictione  quarta- 
decima,  pontificatus  sanctissimi  in  Christo  patris  et  domini 
nostri  domini  Gregorii,  divina  providentia  pape,  undecimi, 
anno  sexto,  mense,  die  et  loco  predictis,  predictum  rnetuen- 
dissimum  dominum  meum  principem  agerentur  et  fierent, 
presentibus  reverendo  in  Christo  patre  domino  Johanne 
Herefordensi  Episcopo,  dominis  Lodewico  de  Clifford,  Nicho- 
lao  Bonde,  et  Nicholao  de  Scharnesfelde,  militibus,  et  domino 
Willelmo  de  Walsham  clerico,  ac  aliis  pluribus  militibus, 
clericis  et  scutiferis,  unacum  ipsis  presens  fui  eaque  sic  fieri 
vidi  et  audivi,  et  de  mandato  dicti  domini  mei  principis  scripsi, 
et  in  hanc  publicam  formam  redegi,  signoque  meis  et  nomine 
consuetis  signavi  rogatus  in  fidem  et  testimonium  omnium 
premissorum,  constat  michi  notario  predicto  de  interlinear’  ha- 
rum  dictionum  —  tout  est ,  per  me  fact,  superius  approbando. 

Probatio  dicti  Testamenti  coram  Simone  Cantuar’  Ar- 
chiepiscopo,  iv.  Idus  Junii,  M.ccc.lxxvj.  in  camera  infra 
scepta  domus  fratrum  predicatorum  Conventus  London’. 
Nostre  Translationis  anno  secundo. 


A  marginal  note  records  that  John,  Bishop  of  Durham, 
and  Alan  Stokes,  executors  of  the  will,  had  rendered  their 
account  of  the  goods,  and  have  a  full  acquittance  as  also 

in  other  instances  as  the  Privy  Signet.  The  will  of  Edward  III.  was  sealed 
“sigillo  privato  et  signeto  nostris,”  with  the  Great  Seal  in  confirmation. 
Richard  II.  on  his  deposition  took  from  his  finger  a  ring  of  gold  of  his  own 
Privy  Signet,  and  put  it  on  the  Duke  of  Lancaster’s  finger.  The  will  of 
Henry  V.  was  sealed  with  the  Great  and  Privy  Seals  and  the  Privy  Signet. 


203 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 

another  acquittance  from  the  Prior  and  Chapter  of  Christ 
Church,  Canterbury,  for  the  legacies  bequeathed  to  that 
church,  as  appears  in  the  Register  of  William  (Courtenay) 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  under  the  year  1386. 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL  OF  EDWARD  PRINCE  OF 
WALES. 

In  perusing  the  foregoing  document,  so  characteristic  of 
the  habitual  feelings  and  usages  of  the  times,  and  of  deep 
interest  in  connection  with  the  history  of  the  Prince,  we 
cannot  fail  to  remark  with  surprise  the  deviation  from  his 
last  wishes  in  regard  to  the  position  of  his  tomb.  The 
instructions  here  minutely  detailed  were  probably  written, 
from  his  own  dictation,  the  day  previous  to  his  decease ; 1 
and  it  were  only  reasonable  to  conclude  that  injunctions 
so  solemnly  delivered  would  have  been  fulfilled  with  scru¬ 
pulous  precision  by  the  executors  even  in  the  most  minute 
particulars.  We  are  unable  to  suggest  any  probable  ex¬ 
planation  of  the  deviations  which  appear  to  have  taken 
place ;  neither  the  chronicles  of  the  period  nor  the  rec¬ 
ords  of  the  Church  of  Canterbury  throw  light  upon  the 
subject. 

According  to  the  instructions  given  by  the  Prince,  the 
corpse  on  reaching  the  church  was  for  a  time  to  be  depos¬ 
ited  on  a  hearse,  or  temporary  stage  of  framework,  to  be 
constructed  between  the  high  altar  and  the  choir,  —  namely, 
in  that  part  of  the  fabric  designated  by  Professor  Willis  as 
the  presbytery,  parallel  with  the  eastern  transepts.  There 
it  wTas  to  remain,  surrounded  doubtless  by  the  torches  and 

1  The  day  given  in  the  printed  text  of  Walsingham,  Hist.  Angl.,  p.  190, 
as  that  of  the  Prince’s  death,  namely,  July  8,  is  obviously  incorrect.  It 
is  singular  that  Mr.  Nichols  should  have  followed  this  inadvertent  error. 
(Royal  Wills,  p.  77.)  Trinity  Sunday  in  the  year  1376  fell  on  June  8 ;  and 
that  is  the  day  stated  in  the  inscription  on  the  tomb  to  have  been  that  on 
which  the  Prince  died. 


204 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


all  the  customary  funeral  pageantry  of  the  hearse,  until  the 
vigils,  masses,  and  divine  services  were  completed.  The 
remains  of  the  Prince  were  then  to  be  conveyed  to  the 
Chapel  of  our  Lady  Under  Croft,  and  there  interred  ;  it  is 
further  enjoined  that  the  foot  of  the  tomb  should  be  ten 
feet  from  the  altar.  If  therefore  it  may  be  assumed,  as 
appears  highly  probable,  that  the  position  of  that  chapel 
and  altar  at  the  period  in  question  was  identical  with  that 
of  the  Lady  Chapel,  of  which  we  now  see  the  remains  in  the 
centre  of  the  crypt,  it  would  appear  that  the  site  selected 
by  Edward  as  his  last  resting-place  was  situated  almost  pre¬ 
cisely  below  the  high-altar  in  the  choir  above.  It  is  obvi¬ 
ous  that  the  screen-work  and  decorations  of  the  chapel, 
now  existing  in  a  very  dilapidated  condition,  are  of  a  period 
subsequent  to  that  of  the  Prince’s  death ;  and  some  have 
attributed  the  work  to  Archbishop  Morton,  towards  the 
close  of  the  fifteenth  century.  This,  it  will  be  remembered, 
is  the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady,  the  surprising  wealth  of  which 
is  described  by  Erasmus,  who  by  favor  of  an  introduction 
from  Archbishop  Warham  was  admitted  within  the  iron 
screens  by  which  the  treasure  wras  strongly  guarded.1 

Here,  then,  in  the  obscurity  of  the  crypt,  and  not  far 
distant  from  the  chantries  which  the  Prince  at  the  time  of 
his  marriage  had  founded  in  the  Under  Croft  of  the  south 
transept,  was  the  spot  where  Edward  enjoined  his  executors 
to  construct  his  tomb.  It  were  vain  to  conjecture,  in  de¬ 
fault  of  any  evidence  on  the  subject,  to  what  cause  the  de¬ 
viation  from  his  dying  wishes  was  owing;  what  difficulties 
may  have  been  found  in  the  endeavor  to  carry  out  the  in¬ 
terment  in  the  crypt,  or  what  arguments  may  have  been 
used  by  the  prior  and  convent  to  induce  the  executors  to 
place  the  tomb  in  the  more  conspicuous  and  sightly  position 


1  Pilgrimage  to  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  translated  by  John  G. 
Nichols,  p.  56.  An  interior  view  of  this  chapel  is  given  by  Dart,  pi.  ix., 
showing  also  the  large  slab  in  the  pavement  once  encrusted  with  an  effigy 
of  brass,  sometimes  supposed  to  cover  the  burial-place  of  Archbishop 
Morton. 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


205 


above,  near  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas,  in  the  Chapel  of 
the  Trinity,  where  it  is  actually  to  be  seen.1 

The  instructions  given  by  the  Prince  for  the  solemn 
pageant  present  a  striking  and  characteristic  picture  of  his 
obsequies,  as  the  procession  passed  through  the  West  Gate 
and  along  the  High  Street  towards  the  cathedral.  He  en¬ 
joined  that  two  chargers  ( dextrarii ),  with  trappings  of  his 
arms  and  badges,  and  two  men  accoutred  in  his  panoply 
and  wearing  his  helms  should  precede  the  corpse.  One 
clieval  de  dale  is  often  mentioned  in  the  splendid  funer¬ 
als  of  former  times.  In  this  instance  there  were  two  ;  one 
of  them  bearing  the  equipment  of  war,  with  the  quarterly 
bearings  of  France  and  England,  as  seen  upon  the  effigy  of 
Edward,  and  upon  the  embroidered  surcoat  still  suspended 
over  it.  The  array  of  the  second  was  directed  to  be  pur  la 
; paix ,  de  noz  bages  des  plumes  d'ostruce  ;  namely,  that  which 
the  Prince  had  used  in  the  lists  and  in  the  chivalrous 
exercises  of  arms  distinguished  from  actual  warfare,  and 
termed  hastiludia  pacijica ,  or“justes  of  peas.”  2  Four  sa¬ 
ble  banners  of  the  same  suit,  with  the  ostrich  plumes, 
accompanied  this  noble  pageant,  and  behind  the  war-horse 
followed  a  man  armed,  bearing  a  pennon,  likewise  charged 
with  ostrich  plumes.  This  was  the  smaller  flag,  or  streamer, 
attached  to  the  warrior’s  lance ;  and  it  may  here,  probably, 
be  regarded  as  representing  that  actually  carried  in  the 
field  by  the  Prince.3 

1  The  supposition  that  the  tomb  of  the  Prince  might  have  been  origi¬ 
nally  placed  in  the  crypt,  and  removed  subsequently  into  the  Chapel  of  the 
Trinity,  may  appear  very  improbable.  Yet  it  may  be  observed  that  the 
iron  railings  around  the  monuments  of  Edward  and  of  Henry  IV.  are  ap¬ 
parently  of  the  same  age,  and  wrought  by  the  same  workman,  as  shown 
by  certain  ornamental  details.  This  might  seem  to  sanction  a  conjecture 
that  the  two  tombs  had  been  placed  there  simultaneously,  that  of  the 
Prince  having  possibly  been  moved  thither  from  the  Under  Croft  when  the 
memorial  of  Henry  was  erected. 

2  See  the  curious  documents  and  memoir  relating  to  the  peaceable  Justs 
or  Tiltings  of  the  Middle  Ages,  by  Mr.  Douce,  Archseologia,  xvii.  290. 

3  A  remarkable  illustration  of  these  instructions  in  Edward’s  will  is 
supplied  by  an  illumination  in  the  “  Metrical  History  of  the  Deposition  of 


206 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


There  can  be  little  doubt  that  on  the  beam  above  the 
Prince’s  tomb  at  Canterbury  there  were  originally  placed 
two  distinct  atchevements,  composed  of  the  actual  accou¬ 
trements,  par  la  guerre  and  pur  la  padx,  which  had  figured 
in  these  remarkable  funeral  impersonations.  It  was  the  cus¬ 
tom,  it  may  be  observed,  when  the  courser  and  armor 
of  the  deceased  formed  part  of  a  funeral  procession,  that 
the  former  was  regarded  as  a  mortuary  due  to  the  church 
in  which  the  obsequies  were  performed,  but  the  armor  was 
usually  hung  up  near  the  tomb.  There  may  still  be  noticed 
two  iron  standards  on  the  beam  above  mentioned,  now  bear¬ 
ing  the  few  remaining  reliques  of  these  atchevements. 
One  of  these  standards  probably  supported  the  embroidered 
armorial  surcoat,  or  “coat  of  worship,”  by  which  Edwrard 
had  been  distinguished  in  the  battle-field,  charged  with  the 
bearings  of  France  and  England,  his  helm,  his  shield  of  war, 
likewise  displaying  the  same  heraldic  ensigns,  and  the  other 
appliances  of  actual  warfare.  The  second  trophy  was  doubt¬ 
less  composed  of  his  accoutrements  for  the  joust,  characterized 
not  by  the  proper  charges  of  heraldry,  but  by  his  favorite 
badge  of  the  ostrich  feather,  the  origin  of  which  still  perplexes 
the  antiquary.  Conformably,  moreover,  to  such  arrangement 
of  the  twofold  atchevements  over  the  tomb,  the  escutcheons 
affixed  to  its  sides  are  alternately  of  war  and  peace  ;  namely, 
charged  with  the  quarterly  bearing,  and  with  the  feathers 
on  a  sable  field. 

In  regard  to  these  richly  enamelled  escutcheons  the 
Prince’s  instructions  were  given  with  much  precision.  They 
were  to  be  twrelve  in  number,  each  a  foot  wide,  formed  of 
latten  or  hard  brass ;  six  being  de  nos  armez  entiers ,  and  the 
remainder  of  ostrich  feathers ;  et  qe  sur  chacun  escuchon 
soil  escript,  c’est  assavier  sur  cellez  de  nos  armez  et  sur  les  autres 
des  plumes  d'ostruce ,  —  Houmout.  Here,  again,  the  tomb  pre- 

Richard  II.,”  where  that  king  appears  with  a  black  snrcoat  powdered  with 
ostrich  plumes,  his  horse  in  trappings  of  the  same,  and  a  pennon  of  the 
like  badge  carried  behind  him.  Richard  is  represented  in  the  act  of  confer¬ 
ring  knighthood  on  Henry  of  Monmouth.  (Archseologia,  xx.  32,  pi.  ii.) 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


207 


sents  a  perplexing  discrepancy  from  tlie  letter  of  the  will, 
which  Sir  Harris  Nicolas,  Mr.  Planche,  and  other  writers  have 
noticed.  The  escutcheons  of  arms  are  actually  surmounted  by 
labels  inscribed  lioumout ;  whilst  those  with  ostrich  feathers 
have  the  motto  ich  diene ,  not  mentioned  in  the  Prince’s 


ENAMELLED  ESCUTCHEON  AFFIXED  TO  THE  ALTAR  TOMB  IN  CANTERBURY 
CATHEDRAL  UPON  WHICH  THE  EFFIGY  OF  EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE 
IS  PLACED. 

injunctions.  It  must,  however,  be  considered  that  the  text 
of  his  will  has  not  been  obtained  from  the  original  in¬ 
strument  (no  longer,  probably,  in  existence),  but  from  a 
transcript  in  Archbishop  Sudbury’s  Register ;  and  the  suppo¬ 
sition  seems  probable  that  the  copier  may  have  inadver¬ 
tently  omitted  the  words  ich  diene  after  noz  armez ,  and  the 


208 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


sentence  as  it  now  stands  appears  incomplete.  Still,  even 
if  this  conjecture  be  admitted,  the  mottoes  over  the  al¬ 
ternate  escutcheons  are  transposed,  as  compared  with  the 
Prince’s  directions. 

The  origin  and  import  of  these  mottoes  have  been  largely 
discussed;  it  may  suffice  to  refer  to  the  arguments  ad- 


ENAMELLED  ESCUTCHEON  AFFIXED  TO  THE  ALTAR  TOMB  IN  CANTERBURY 
CATHEDRAL  UPON  WHICH  THE  EFFIGY  OF  EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE 
IS  PLACED. 

vanced  by  the  late  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  and  by  Mr.  Planche 
(Archaeologia,  xxxi.  357,  372,  and  xxxii.  69). 1  The  most 
remarkable  fact  connected  with  this  subject  is  that  the 
Prince  actually  used  these  mottoes  as  a  sign-manual ; 


1  See  also  Mr.  Planche’s  History  of  British  Costume,  p.  178. 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


209 


thus  :  Be  par  homout  Ich  dene ,  the  mottoes  being  written 
one  over  the  other,  and  enclosed  within  a  line  traced  around 
them.  This  interesting  signature  was  first  noticed  in  a  com¬ 
munication  to  the  Spalding  Society,  some  years  since,  and 
a  fac-simile  engraved  in  Mr.  Nichols’s  “  Bibliotheca  Topogra¬ 
phical  Another  document  thus  signed,  and  preserved  in 
the  Tower,  was  communicated  by  Mr.  Hardy  to  the  late  Sir 
Harris  Nicolas.  It  has  been  published  in  his  “  Memoir  on 
the  Badges  and  Mottoes  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,”  before 
cited.1  I  am  indebted  to  the  obliging  courtesy  of  the  Vis¬ 
count  Mahon,  President  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  whose 
kindness  enables  me  to  place  before  the  reader  of  these  notes 


a  faithful  representation  of  the  Prince’s  signature,  as  also  the 
accompanying  illustrations  of  the  subject  under  considera¬ 
tion,  being  woodcuts  prepared  for  the  “  Memoirs,”  by  Sir 
Harris  Nicolas,  in  the  “  Archseologia.” 

A  brief  notice  of  the  interesting  reliques  which  still  remain 
over  the  tomb  may  here  be  acceptable.2  The  chief  of  these 
is  the  gamboised  jupon  of  one  pile  crimson  velvet,  with 
short  sleeves  somewhat  like  the  tabard  of  the  herald,  but 

1  Archaeologia,  xxxi.  358,  381.  The  document  in  the  Tower  which 
bears  this  signature  is  dated  April  25,  1370,  being  a  warrant  granted  to 
John  de  Esquet  for  fifty  marks  per  annum  out  of  the  exchequer  of  Ches¬ 
ter.  The  document  given  in  “  Bibliotheca  Topographical’  iii.  90,  seems  not 
to  have  been  noticed  by  Sir  Harris  Nicolas.  It  is  described  as  a  grant  of 
twenty  marks  per  annum,  to  John  de  Esquet,  dated  34  Edw.  III.  (1360-1361). 

2  I  regret  much  that  I  was  unable  to  examine  these  highly  interesting 
reliques.  The  following  particulars  are  from  the  notes  by  Mr.  Kempe  in  the 
letterpress  of  Stothard’s  Effigies,  where  admirable  representations  of  these 
objects  are  given  ;  a  short  account  by  Mr.  J.  Gough  Nichols,  in  the  “  Gen¬ 
tleman’s  Magazine,”  xxii.  384,  and  Mr.  Hartshorne’s  Memoir  on  Mediaeval 
Embroidery,  Archaeological  Journal,  iii.  326,  327. 

14 


210 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


laced  up  the  back ;  the  foundation  of  the  garment  being  of 
buckram,  stuffed  with  cotton,  and  quilted  in  longitudinal 
ribs.  The  sleeves,  as  well  as  both  front  and  back,  of  this 
coat  display  the  quarterly  bearing,  the  fleurs-de-lys  ( semees ) 
and  lions  being  embroidered  in  gold.  Recently  it  has  been 
lined  with  leather  for  its  better  preservation.  The  shield 
is  of  wood,  covered  with  moulded  leather,  or  cuir  bouilli, 
wrought  with  singular  skill,  so  that  th e  fleur-de-lys  and  lions 
of  the  quarterly  bearing  which  it  displays  preserve  the  sharp¬ 
ness  of  finish  and  bold  relief  in  remarkable  perfection.  The 
iron  conical-topped  helm  is  similar  in  form  to  that  placed 
under  the  head  of  the  effigy ;  its  original  lining  of  leather 
may  be  seen,  a  proof  of  its  having  been  actually  intended 
for  use ;  it  has,  besides  the  narrow  ocidaria,  or  transverse 
apertures  for  sight,  a  number  of  small  holes  pierced  on  the 
right  side  in  front,  probably  to  give  air ;  they  are  arranged 
in  form  of  a  crown.  Upon  the  red  chapeau,  or  cap  of  estate, 
lined  with  velvet,  with  the  ermined  fore-part  turned  up,  was 
placed  the  gilded  lion  which  formed  the  crest.  This  is  hol¬ 
low,  and  constructed  of  some  light  substance,  stated  to  be 
pasteboard,  coated  with  a  plastic  composition,  on  which  the 
shaggy  locks  of  the  lion’s  skin  were  formed  by  means  of  a 
mould.  The  chapeau  and  crest  were,  it  is  said,  detached 
from  the  helm  some  years  since,  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit 
by  the  Duchess  of  Kent  to  Canterbury.  The  gauntlets 
are  of  brass,  differing  only  from  those  of  the  effigy  in  hav¬ 
ing  been  ornamented  with  small  lions  riveted  upon  the 
knuckles  ;  the  leather  which  appears  on  the  inside  is  worked 
up  the  sides  of  the  fingers  with  silk.1  The  fact  that  these 
gauntlets  are  of  brass  may  deserve  notice,  as  suggesting  the 
probability  that  the  entire  suit  which  served  as  a  model  for 

1  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  curious  lioucels  on  the  Prince’s  gaunt¬ 
lets  should  have  been  detached  by  “collectors.”  One  was  shown  me  at 
Canterbury,  now  in  private  hands,  which  I  much  desire  were  deposited 
in  the  Library,  in  Dr.  Bargrave’s  cabinet  of  coins  and  antiquities,  or  in 
some  other  place  of  safe  custody.  Another  was  in  the  possession  of  a 
Kentish  collector,  whose  stores  were  dispersed  by  public  auction  a  few 
years  since. 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


211 


the  effigy  of  the  Prince  was  of  that  metal.  The  scabbard 
of  red  leather  with  gilt  studs,  and  a  fragment  of  the  belt  of 
thick  cloth,  with  a  single  buckle,  alone  remain ;  it  has  been 
stated,  on  what  authority  I  have  not  been  able  to  ascertain, 
that  the  sword  was  carried  away  by  Cromwell.1 

A  representation  has  happily  been  preserved  of  another  re- 
lique,  originally  part  of  the  funeral  atchevements  of  the  Black 
Prince,  and  which  may  have  formed  a  portion  of  the  accou¬ 
trements  pur  la  paix.  Edmund  Bolton,  in  his  u  Elements 
of  Armories,”  printed  in  1610,  remarks  that  the  ancient 
fashion  of  shields  was  triangular,  —  namely,  that  of  the  shield 
still  to  be  seen  over  the  Prince’s  tomb,  —  but  that  it  was  not 
the  only  form ;  and  he  gives  two  examples,  one  being  the 
“  honorary  ”  shield  belonging  to  the  most  renowned  Edward 
Prince  of  Wales,  whose  tomb  is  in  the  Cathedral  Church  in 
Canterbury.  “  There  (beside  his  quilted  coat-armour  with 
halfe-sleeves,  taberd-fashion,  and  his  triangular  shield,  both 
of  them  painted  with  the  royall  armories  of  our  kings,  and 
differenced  with  silver  labels)  hangs  this  kinde  of  Pavis  or 

1  On  this  subject  it  may  be  worth  while  to  insert  a  letter  received  from 
the  Rev.  A.  D.  Wray,  Canon  of  Manchester,  in  the  hope  of  eliciting  further 
information  on  the  fate  of  the  sword.  —  A.  P.  S. 

“The  sword,  or  supposed  sword  of  the  Black  Prince,  which  Oliver  Crom¬ 
well  is  said  to  have  carried  away,  I  have  seen  and  many  times  have  had  in 
my  hands.  There  lived  in  Manchester,  when  I  first  came  here  (1809)  a  Mr. 
Thomas  Barritt,  a  saddler  by  trade ;  he  was  a  great  antiquarian,  and  had 
collected  together  helmets,  coats  of  mail,  horns,  etc.,  and  many  coins.  But 
what  he  valued  most  of  all  was  a  sword  :  the  blade  about  two  feet  long,  and 
on  the  blade  was  let  in,  in  letters  of  gold,  ‘  Edwardus  Wallie  Princeps.’ 
I  see,  from  a  drawing  which  I  possess  of  himself  and  his  curiosities,  he  was 
in  possession  of  this  sword  a.d.  1794.  He  told  me  he  purchased  many  of  the 
ancient  relics  of  a  pedler,  who  travelled  through  the  country  selling  earth¬ 
enware,  and  I  think  he  said  he  got  this  sword  from  this  pedler.  When 
Barritt  died,  in  October,  1820,  aged  seventy-six,  his  curiosities  were  sold  by 
his  widow  at  a  raffle;  but  I  believe  this  sword  was  not  among  the  articles 
so  disposed  of.  It  had  probably  been  disposed  of  beforehand,  but  to  whom 
I  never  knew ;  yet  I  think  it  not  unlikely  that  it  is  still  in  the  neighbor¬ 
hood.  Mrs.  Barritt  is  long  since  dead,  and  her  only  child  a  daughter, 
leaving  no  representative.  The  sword  was  a  little  curved,  scimitar-like, 
rather  thick,  broad  blade,  and  had  every  appearance  of  being  the  Black 
Prince’s  sword.  Mr.  Barritt  had  made  a  splendid  scabbard  to  hold  it.” 


212 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


Targat,1  curiously  (for  those  times)  embost  and  painted,  the 
scucheon  in  the  bosse  beeing  worne  out,  and  the  Armes 
(which  it  seems  were  the  same  with  his  coate-armour,  and 
not  any  peculiar  devise)  defaced,  and  is  altogether  of  the 
same  kinde  with  that,  upon  which  (Froissard  reports)  the 
dead  body  of  the  Lord  Robert  of  Duras,  and  nephew  to  the 
Cardinall  of  Pierregourt  was  laid,  and  sent  unto  that  Cardi- 
nall  from  the  battell  of  Poictiers,  where  the  Black  Prince 
obtained  a  victorie,  the  renowne  whereof  is  immortall.” 

The  form  of  this  Pavis  is  ovoid,  that  is,  an  oval  narrowing 
towards  the  bottom  :  in  the  middle  is  a  circle,  apparently 
designated  by  Bolton  as  “  the  bosse,”  the  diameter  of  which 
is  considerably  more  than  half  the  width  of  the  shield  at 
that  part ;  this  circle  encloses  an  escutcheon  of  the  arms  of 
France  and  England  quarterly,  with  a  label  of  three  points. 
All  the  rest  of  the  shield  around  this  circle  is  diapered  with 
a  trailing  or  foliated  ornament.2  Unfortunately,  Bolton  has 
not  recorded  the  dimensions  of  this  shield ;  but  it  may  prob¬ 
ably  be  concluded  from  his  comparing  it  with  the  targe, 
mentioned  by  Froissart,  upon  which  the  corpse  of  Duras  was 
conveyed,  that  it  was  of  larger  proportions  than  the  ordinary 
triangular  war-shield. 

The  Holy  Trinity,  it  has  been  remarked,  was  regarded 
with  especial  veneration  by  the  Black  Prince.  In  the  Or¬ 
dinance  of  the  chantries  founded  at  Canterbury,  printed 
in  this  volume,  page  188,  the  Prince  states  his  purpose 
to  be  ad  honor em  Sancte  Trinitatis  quam  peculiar i  devoci- 
one  semper  colimus .  On  the  wooden  tester  beneath  which 
his  effigy  is  placed,  a  very  curious  painting  in  distemper 
may  still  be  discerned,  representing  the  Holy  Trinity ; 

1  A  woodcut  is  introduced  here  in  the  description.  (Elements  of 
Armories,  p.  67.)  It  has  been  copied  in  Brayley’s  Graphic  Illustrator, 
p.  128.  It  is  remarkable  that  Bolton  should  assert  that  the  arms  both  on 
the  quilted  coat  and  on  the  triangular  shield  were  differenced  by  a  label  of 
silver:  none  is  now  to  be  seen  ;  the  silver  may  possibly  have  become  effaced. 
The  label  appears  on  the  shield  figured  by  Bolton,  as  also  on  the  effigy. 

2  A  jousting- shield  in  the  Goodrich  Court  Armory  is  decorated  with 
gilt  foliage  in  very  similar  style.  See  Skelton’s  Illustrations,  vol.  i.  pi.  xii. 


ftOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


213 


according  to  the  usual  conventional  symbolism,  the  Su¬ 
preme  Being  is  here  portrayed  seated  on  the  rainbow  and 
holding  a  crucifix,  the  foot  of  which  is  fixed  on  a  terra¬ 
queous  globe.  The  four  angles  contain  the  Evangelistic 


REPRESENTATION  OF  EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE  KNEELING  IN  VENERA¬ 
TION  OF  THE  HOLT  TRINITY. 

From  a  metal  badge  preserved  in  the  British  Museum. 

(Of  the  same  dimensions  as  the  original.) 

symbols.  An  interesting  illustration  of  the  Prince’s  peculiar 
veneration  for  the  Holy  Trinity  is  supplied  by  the  curious 
metal  badge,  preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  and  of  which 
Sir  Harris  Nicolas  has  given  a  representation  in  his  “  Ob- 


214 


NOTES  ON  THE  WILL. 


servations  on  the  Institution  of  the  Order  of  the  Gar¬ 
ter.”  1  On  this  relique  the  Prince  appears  kneeling  before 
a  figure  of  the  Almighty  holding  a  crucifix,  almost  iden¬ 
tical  in  design  with  the  painting  above  mentioned.  His 
gauntlets  lie  on  the  ground  before  him ;  he  is  bareheaded, 
the  crested  helm  being  held  by  an  angel  standing  behind ; 
and  above  is  seen  another  angel  issuing  from  the  clouds, 
and  holding  his  shield,  charged  with  the  arms  of  France  and 
England,  differenced  by  a  label.  The  whole  is  surrounded 
by  a  Garter,  inscribed  hony  soyt  he  mol  y  pense.  It  is 
remarkable  that  on  this  plate,  as  also  in  the  painting  on  the 
tester  of  the  tomb,  the  dove,  usually  introduced  to  symbol¬ 
ize  the  third  person  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  does  not  appear. 

There  are  other  matters  comprised  in  this  remarkable 
will  to  which  time  does  not  allow  me  to  advert.  It  ap¬ 
peared  very  desirable  to  give,  with  greater  accuracy  than 
had  hitherto  been  done,  the  text  of  a  document  so  essential 
to  the  illustration  of  the  History  of  Edward,  as  connected 
with  the  Cathedral  Church  of  Canterbury.2 

1  Archaeologia,  xxxi.  141.  This  object  is  a  casting  in  pewter  or  mixed 
white  metal,  from  a  mould  probably  intended  for  making  badges,  which- 
may  have  been  worn  by  the  Prince’s  attendants  affixed  to  the  dress. 

2  It  is  with  pleasure  that  I  here  acknowledge  the  courtesy  of  the  Rev. 
J.  Thomas,  Librarian  to  the  Archbishop,  in  giving  facilities  for  the  collation 
of  the  transcript  of  the  Prince’s  will  preserved  amongst  the  Records  at 
Lambeth  Palace. 


HIS  CONNECTION  WITH  QUEEN’S  COLLEGE,  ETC.  215 


I.  WAS  THE  BLACK  PRINCE  AT  QUEEN’S  COLLEGE, 
OXFORD  1 

The  tradition  of  the  Black  Prince’s  connection  with 
Queen’s  College  and  with  Wycliffe,  as  stated  in  the  text, 
must,  I  find,  be  taken  with  considerable  reservation. 

With  regard  to  the  Black  Prince,  the  Bursars’  rolls,  which 
are  extant  as  far  back  as  1347,  exhibit,  I  am  informed,  no 
traces  of  his  stay  •  and  the  early  poverty  of  the  college  is 
thought  to  be  a  strong  presumption  against  it. 

With  regard  to  Wycliffe,  the  Bursars’  rolls  exhibit  various 
expenses  incurred  for  a  chamber  let  to  Wycliffe  (“Magis- 
ter  Joh.  Wyclif”)  in  1363-1375.1  This  probably  is  the 
foundation  of  the  story  that  he  was  there  as  a  student ;  and 
if  so,  the  supposition  that  he  may  have  been  there  in  1346, 
at  the  same  time  with  the  Black  Prince,  falls  to  the  ground. 


II.  DID  THE  BLACK  PRINCE  COME  TO  CANTERBURY 
AFTER  THE  BATTLE  OF  POITIERS  ? 

It  appears  from  a  letter  in  Bymer’s  “  Foedera,”  that  the 
Prince  was  expected  to  land  at  Plymouth  ;  it  is  stated  by 
Knyghton  that  he  actually  did  so.  The  question,  there¬ 
fore,  arises  whether  Froissart’s  detailed  account  of  his  arrival 
at  Sandwich  and  of  his  subsequent  journey  to  Canterbury, 
as  given  in  the  Note,  can  be  reconciled  with  those  intima¬ 
tions  ;  or  if  not,  which  authority  must  give  way  1 

1  See  notes  to  the  last  edition  of  Fox’s  Acts  and  Martyrs,  p.  940. 


THE  SHRINE 


OF 

ST.  THOMAS  OF  CANTERBURY. 


The  authorities  for  the  subject  of  the  following  Essay  are,  besides 
the  chroniclers  and  historians  of  the  time,  and  the  ordinary  text-books 
of  Canterbury  antiquities,  —  Somner,  Batteley,  Hasted,  and  Willis : 
(1)  Erasmus’s  Pilgrimage  to  Canterbury  and  Walsingham,  as  edited 
with  great  care  and  copious  illustrations  by  Mr.  Nichols;  (2) 
Chaucer’s  Canterbury  Tales,  as  edited  by  Tyrwhitt,  and  the  “  Sup¬ 
plementary  Tale,”  as  edited  by  Mr.  Wright,  in  the  twenty-sixth  volume 
of  the  Percy  Society.  To  these  I  have  added,  in  an  Appendix,  ex¬ 
tracts  from  sources  less  generally  accessible  :  ( 1 )  A  manuscript  history 
of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  in  Norman  French,  entitled  “  Polistoire,” 
now  in  the  British  Museum,  of  the  time  of  Edward  II. ;  (2)  The 
Narrative  of  the  Bohemian  Embassy,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  IV. ; 
(3)  The  manuscript  Defence  of  Henry  VIII.,  by  William  Thomas, 
of  the  time  of  Edward  VI.,  in  the  British  Museum  ;  (4)  Some  few 
notices  of  the  Shrine  in  the  Archives  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  —  which 
last  are  subjoined  to  this  Essay,  as  collected  and  annotated  by  Mj\ 
Albert  Way,  who  has  also  added  notes  on  the  “  Pilgrim’s  Koad”  and 
on  the  “  Pilgrimage  of  John  of  France.”  I  have  also  appended  in  this 
edition  a  note,  by  Mr.  George  Austin,  of  Canterbury,  on  the  crescent 
above  the  shrine,  and  on  the  representation  of  the  story  of  Becket’s 
miracles  in  the  stained  glass  of  the  cathedral. 


THE  SHRINE  OF  BECKET. 


MONGST  the  many  treasures  of  art  and  of  devo- 


<t~\.  tion  which  once  adorned  or  which  still  adorn  the 
inetropolitical  cathedral,  the  one  point  to  which  for 
more  than  three  centuries  the  attention  of  every 
stranger  who  entered  its  gates  was  directed,  was  the 
shrine  of  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  And  although 
that  shrine,  with  the  special  feelings  of  reverence  of 
which  it  was  once  the  centre,  has  long  passed  away, 
yet  there  is  still  sufficient  interest  around  its  ancient 
site,  there  is  still  sufficient  instruction  in  its  event¬ 
ful  history,  to  require  a  full  narrative  of  its  rise,  its 
progress,  and  its  fall,  in  any  historical  records  of  the 
great  cathedral  of  which  in  the  eyes  of  England  it 
successively  formed  the  support,  the  glory,  and  the 
disgrace.  Such  a  narrative,  worthily  told,  would  be 
far  more  than  a  mere  investigation  of  local  antiquities. 
It  would  be  a  page  in  one  of  the  most  curious  chapters 
of  the  history  of  the  human  mind ;  it  would  give  us  a 
clear  insight  into  the  interior  working  of  the  ancient 
monastic  and  ecclesiastical  system,  in  one  of  the  as¬ 
pects  in  which  it  least  resembles  anything  which  we 
now  see  around  us,  either  for  good  or  for  evil ;  it  would 
enable  us  to  be  present  at  some  of  the  most  gorgeous 
spectacles  and  to  meet  some  of  the  most  remarkable 
characters  of  mediaeval  times ;  it  would  help  us  to 


220  INSIGNIFICANCE  OE  THE  CATHEDRAL 


appreciate  more  comprehensively  some  of  the  main 
causes  and  effects  of  the  Eeformation. 

In  order  to  understand  this  singular  story,  we  must 
first  go  back  to  the  state  of  Canterbury  and  its  cathe¬ 
dral  in  the  times  preceding  not  only  the  shrine  itself, 
but  the  event  of  which  it  was  the  memorial.  Canter¬ 
bury,  from  the  time  of  Augustine,  had  been  the  chief 
city  of  the  English  Church.  But  it  had  not  acquired 
an  European  celebrity;  and  the  comparative  splendor 
which  it  had  enjoyed  during  the  reign  of  Ethelbert,  as 
capital  of  a  large  part  of  Britain,  had  entirely  passed 
away  before  the  greater  claims  of  Winchester  and  of 
London.  And  even  in  the  city  of  Canterbury  the  ca¬ 
thedral  was  not  the  chief  ecclesiastical  edifice.  There 
was,  we  must  remember,  close  outside  the  walls,  the 
great  Abbey  and  Church  of  St.  Augustine  ;  and  we  can 
hardly  doubt  that  here,  as  in  many  foreign  cities,  the 
church  of  the  patron  saint  was  regarded  as  a  more  sa¬ 
cred  and  important  edifice  than  the  church  attached  to 
the  episcopal  see.  St.  Zeno  at  Verona,  and  St.  Apollina: 
ris  at  Bavenna  outshine  the  cathedrals  of  both  those 
ancient  cities.  The  Basilica  of  St.  Mark  at  Venice, 
though  only  the  private  chapel  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  has, 
ever  since  its  claim  to  possess  the  relics  of  the  Evange¬ 
list  of  Alexandria,  thrown  into  the  most  distant  shade 
the  seat  of  the  patriarchate,  in  the  obscure  Church  of 
St.  Peter  in  the  little  island  beyond  the  Arsenal.  The 
Basilica  of  St.  John  Lateran,  though  literally  the  metro¬ 
politan  cathedral  of  the  metropolitan  city  of  Christen¬ 
dom,  though  containing  the  see  and  chair  of  the  Roman 
pontiffs,  though  the  mother  and  head  of  all  the  churches, 
with  the  princes  of  Europe  for  the  members  of  its 
chapter,  has  been  long  superseded  in  grandeur  and  in 
sanctity  by  the  august  dome  which  in  a  remote  corner 


BEFORE  THE  MURDER  OF  BECKET.  221 

of  the  city  rises  over  the  grave  of  the  Apostle  Saint 
Peter.  In  two  celebrated  instances  the  cathedral  has, 
as  in  the  case  of  Canterbury,  from  accidental  causes 
overtaken  the  church  of  the  original  saint.  Milan 
Cathedral  has,  from  Galeazzo  Visconti’s  efforts  to  ex¬ 
piate  his  enormous  crimes  and  from  the  popular  devo¬ 
tion  to  Saint  Carlo  Borromeo,  more  than  succeeded  in 
eclipsing  the  ancient  Church  of  St.  Ambrose.  Rheims 
—  the  Canterbury  of  France — furnishes  a  still  more 
exact  parallel.  The  Abbey  Church  of  St.  Remy  and 
the  Cathedral,  at  the  two  extremities  of  the  city,  are 
the  precise  counterparts  of  Christ  Church  and  of  St. 
Augustine’s  Abbey  in  the  first  Christian  city  of  Eng¬ 
land.  The  present  magnificence  of  Rheims  Cathedral, 
as  its  architecture  at  once  reveals,  dates  from  a  later 
period  than  the  simple  but  impressive  edifice  which 
encloses  the  shrine  of  the  patron  saint,  and  shows 
that  there  was  a  time  when  the  distinction  conferred 
on  the  cathedral  by  the  coronation  of  the  French  kings 
had  not  yet  rivalled  the  glory  of  Saint  Remigius,  the 
Apostle  of  the  Franks.  These  instances,  to  which 
many  more  might  be  added,  exemplify  the  feeling 
which  in  the  early  days  of  Canterbury  placed  the 
Monastery  of  St.  Augustine  above  the  Monastery  of 
Christ  Church.  The  former  was  an  abbey,  headed  by 
a  powerful  dignitary  who  in  any  gathering  of  the  Bene¬ 
dictine  Order  ranked  next  after  the  Abbot  of  Monte 
Casino.  The  latter  was  but  a  priory,  under  the  su¬ 
perintendence  of  the  Archbishop,  whose  occupations 
usually  made  him  a  non-resident,  and  therefore  not 
necessarily  bound  up  with  the  interests  of  the  institu¬ 
tion  of  which  he  was  but  the  nominal  head. 

Besides  this  natural  pre-eminence,  so  to  speak,  of  the 
original  church  of  Augustine  over  that  in  which  his  see 


222  RELATIVE  POSITION  OF  CHRIST  CHURCH 

was  established  by  Ethelbert,  there  was  another  pecu¬ 
liarity  which  seemed  at  one  time  likely  to  perpetuate 
its  superiority.  We  have  seen  how  the  position  of  the 
abbey  as  the  burial-place  of  Augustine  was  determined 
by  the  usages  which  he  brought  with  him  from  Italy.1 
It  was  outside  the  walls;  and  within  its  extra-mural 
precincts  alone  the  bodies  of  the  illustrious  dead  could 
be  deposited.  To  our  notions  this  would  seem,  per¬ 
haps,  of  trifling  importance  in  considering  the  probable 
fortunes  either  of  an  edifice  or  of  an  institution.  But 
it  was  not  so  then  ;  and  we  shall  but  imperfectly  under¬ 
stand  the  history  not  only  of  the  particular  subject  on 
which  w’e  are  now  engaged,  but  of  the  whole  period  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  unless  we  bear  in  mind  the  vast  im¬ 
portance  which  from  the  fifth  century  onwards  till  the 
fifteenth  was  ascribed  to  the  possession  of  relics. 

No  doubt  this  feeling  had  a  just  and  natural  origin, 
so  far  as  it  was  founded  on  the  desire  to  retain  the 
memorials  of  those  honored  in  former  times.  And  it  is 
almost  as  unreasonable  to  deprive  our  great  cathedrals 
of  this  legitimate  source  of  interest,  where  no  sanitary 
objections  exist,  as  it  was  formerly  to  insist  upon 
promiscuous  interment  within  every  church  to  the 
manifest  injury  of  the  living.  But  however  excellent 
this  sentiment  may  be  in  itself,  it  was  in  the  Middle 
Ages  exaggerated  beyond  all  due  bounds  by  the  pecu¬ 
liar  reverence  which  at  that  time  attached  to  the  cor¬ 
poreal  elements  and  particles  (so  to  speak)  of  religious 
objects.  To  this,  too,  we  must  add,  as  has  been  well 
remarked  by  a  sagacious  observer  of  ancient  and  mod¬ 
ern  usages,  the  concentration  of  all  those  feelings  and 
tastes  which  now  expend  themselves  on  collections 
of  pictures,  of  statues,  of  books,  of  manuscripts,  of 

1  See  “  Landing  of  Augustine,”  p.  48. 


AND  ST.  AUGUSTINE’S. 


223 


curiosities  of  all  kinds,  but  which  then  found  their  vent 
in  this  one  department  alone.  It  became  a  mania,  such 
as  never  was  witnessed  before  or  since.  The  traces 
which  still  exist  in  some  Koman  Catholic  countries  are 
mere  shadows  of  what  is  passed.  In  the  times  preced¬ 
ing  or  immediately  following  the  Christian  era,  it  hardly 
existed  at  all.  But  at  the  time  of  the  foundation  of 
the  two  monasteries  of  Canterbury,  and  nearly  through 
the  whole  period  which  we  have  now  to  consider,  its 
influence  was  amongst  the  most  powerful  motives  by 
which  the  mind  of  Europe  was  agitated.  Hence  the 
strange  practice  of  dismembering  the  bodies  of  saints, 
—  a  bone  here,  a  heart  there,  a  head  here,  —  which 
painfully  neutralizes  the  religious  and  historical  effect 
of  even  the  most  authentic  and  the  most  sacred  graves 
in  Christendom.  Hence  the  still  stranger  practice  of 
the  invention  and  sale  of  relics,  which  throws  such 
doubt  on  the  genuineness  of  all.  Hence  the  monstrous 
incongruity  and  contradiction  of  reproducing  the  same 
relics  in  different  shrines.  Hence  the  rivalry,  the 
thefts,  the  commerce,  of  these  articles  of  sacred  mer¬ 
chandise,  especially  between  institutions  whose  jealousy 
was  increased  by  neighborhood,  as  was  the  case  with 
the  two  monasteries  of  Canterbury. 

According  to  the  rule  just  noticed,  no  king  of  Kent, 
no  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  however  illustrious  in 
life  or  holy  in  death,  could  be  interred  within  the  pre¬ 
cincts  of  the  cathedral,  enclosed  as  it  was  by  the  city 
walls.  Hot  only  Augustine  and  Ethelbert,  but  Lau¬ 
rence,  the  honored  successor  of  Augustine,  who  had 
reconverted  the  apostate  Eadbald,  and  Theodore  of 
Tarsus,  fellow-townsman  of  the  Apostle  of  the  Gen¬ 
tiles,  and  first  teacher  of  Greek  learning  in  England, 
were  laid  beneath  the  shadow  of  St.  Augustine’s  Ab- 


224 


CHANGE  EFFECTED  BY 


bey.  As  far  as  human  prescience  could  extend,  a  long 
succession  of  sainted  men  was  thus  secured  to  the  ri¬ 
val  monastery ;  and  the  inmates  of  the  cathedral  were 
doomed  to  lament  the  hard  fate  that  made  over  to  their 
neighbors  treasures  which  seemed  peculiarly  their  own. 
Thus  passed  away  the  first  eight  primates.  At  last  an 
archbishop  arose  in  whom  the  spirit  of  attachment  to 
the  monastery  of  which  he  was  the  authorized  head 
prevailed  over  the  deference  due  to  the  usages  and  ex¬ 
ample  of  the  founder  of  his  see.  Cuthbert,  the  ninth 
archbishop,  determined  by  a  bold  stroke  to  break 
through  the  precedent  by  leaving  his  bones  to  his  own 
cathedral.  Secretly  during  his  lifetime  he  prepared  a 
document,  to  which  he  procured  the  sanction  of  the 
King  of  Kent  and  of  the  Pope,  authorizing  this  impor¬ 
tant  deviation.  And  when  at  last  he  felt  his  end  ap¬ 
proaching,  he  gathered  the  monks  of  Christ  Church 
round  him,  delivered  the  warrant  into  their  hands,  and 
adjured  them  not  to  toll  the  cathedral  bell  till  the  third 
day  after  his  death  and  burial.  The  order  was  gladly 
obeyed.  The  body  was  safely  interred  within  the  cathe¬ 
dral  precincts  ;  and  not  till  the  third  day  was  the  knell 
sounded  which  summoned  the  monks  of  St.  Augus¬ 
tine’s  Abbey,  with  their  abbot  Aldhelm  at  their  head, 
to  claim  their  accustomed  prey.  They  were  met  at 
the  gates  of  the  priory  with  the  startling  intelligence 
that  the  Archbishop  was  duly  buried,  and  their  indig¬ 
nant  remonstrances  were  stopped  by  the  fatal  compact. 
There  was  one  more  attempt  made,  under  Jambert,  the 
next  abbot,  to  carry  off  the  body  of  the  next  arch¬ 
bishop  at  the  head  of  an  armed  mob.  But  the  battle 
was  won.  Jambert,  indeed,  who  was  afterwards  him¬ 
self  raised  from  the  abbacy  of  St.  Augustine’s  to  the 
archiepiscopal  see,  could  not  but  remember  the  claims 


ARCHBISHOP  CUTHBERT. 


225 


which  he  had  himself  so  strongly  defended,  and  was 
interred  within  the  walls  of  St.  Augustine’s.  But 
he  was  the  only  exception;  and  after  this,  till  the 
epoch  of  the  Reformation,  not  more  than  six  primates 
were  buried  outside  the  precincts  of  the  cathedral.1 

It  has  been  thought  worth  while  to  relate  at  length 
this  curious  story,  partly  as  an  illustration  of  the  relic 
worship  of  the  time,  partly  also  as  a  necessary  step  in 
the  history  of  the  cathedral,  and  of  that  especial  por¬ 
tion  of  it  now  before  us.  But  for  the  intervention  of 
Cuthbert  the  greatest  source  of  power  which  the  cathe¬ 
dral  was  ever  to  claim  would  never  have  fallen  to  its 
share.  The  change,  indeed,  immediately  began  to  tell. 
Hitherto  the  monks  of  the  cathedral  had  been  com¬ 
pelled  to  content  themselves  with  such  fragments  as 
they  could  beg  or  steal  from  other  churches,  but  now 
the  vacant  spaces  were  filled  with  a  goodly  array  not 
only  of  illustrious  prelates,  but  even  of  canonized 
saints.  Not  only  did  the  cathedral  cover  the  graves 
of  ancient  Saxon  primates,  and  of  Lanfranc,  the  founder 
of  the  Anglo-Norman  hierarchy,  but  also  those  of  the 
confessor  Saint  Dunstan,  of  the  martyr  Saint  Alphege, 
of  the  great  theologian  Saint  Anselm.  To  those 
three  tombs  —  now  almost  entirely  vanished  —  the 
monks  of  Christ  Church  would  doubtless  have  pointed 
in  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  as  the  crown¬ 
ing  ornaments  of  their  cathedral ;  the  monks  of  St.  Au¬ 
gustine,  though  they  might  still  quote  with  pride  the 
saying  of  Dunstan,  that  every  footstep  he  took  within 
their  precincts  was  planted  on  the  grave  of  a  saint,2 
would  have  confessed  with  a  sigh  that  the  artifice  of 
Cuthbert  had  to  a  certain  extent  succeeded ;  and  when 
Lanfranc  ordered  that  the  bells  of  the  abbey  were  not 

1  Thorn,  1773.  2  Acta  Sanctorum,  May  4,  p.  78. 

15 


226  SPREAD  OF  THE  WORSHIP  OF  ST.  THOMAS 

to  be  rung  till  the  first  note  had  been  given  by  those  of 
the  cathedral,1  he  was  perhaps  only  confirming,  by  his 
archiepiscopal  authority,  an  equality  already  acknowl¬ 
edged  by  popular  usage. 

Still,  the  superiority  of  the  one  over  the  other  was 
not  absolutely  decisive;  and  neither  edifice  could  be 
said  to  possess  a  shrine  of  European,  hardly  even  of 
British  celebrity.  It  is  probable  that  Saint  Cuthbert  at 
Durham,  Saint  Wilfrid  at  Ripon,  Saint  Edmund  in  East 
Anglia,  equalled,  in  the  eyes  of  most  Englishmen,  the 
claims  of  any  saints  buried  in  the  metropolitical  city. 
But  the  great  event  of  which  Canterbury  was  the  scene, 
on  the  29th  of  December,  1170,  at  once  riveted  upon  it 
the  thoughts  not  only  of  England,  but  of  Christendom. 
A  saint  —  so  it  was  then  almost  universally  believed  — 
a  saint  of  unparalleled  sanctity  had  fallen  in  the  church 
of  which  he  was  primate,  a  martyr  for  its  rights ;  and 
his  blood,  his  remains,  were  in  the  possession  of  that 
church,  as  an  inalienable  treasure  forever.  Most  men 
were  persuaded  that  a  new  burst  of  miraculous  pow¬ 
ers,2  such  as  had  been  suspended  for  many  generations, 
had  broken  out  at  the  tomb ;  and  the  contemporary 
monk  Benedict  fills  a  volume  with  extraordinary  cures, 
wrought  within  a  very  few  years  after  the  “Martyr¬ 
dom.”  Far  and  wide  the  fame  of  “  Saint  Thomas  of  Can¬ 
terbury  ”  spread.3  Other  English  saints,  however  great 
their  local  celebrity,  were  for  the  most  part  not  known 
beyond  the  limits  of  Britain.  ISTo  churches  in  foreign 
parts  retain  the  names  even  of  Saint  Cuthbert  of  Dur¬ 
ham,  or  Saint  Edmund  of  Bury.  But  there  is  probably 

1  Thorn,  c.  vii.  s.  10.  2  See  Robertson,  pp.  291,  292. 

3  See  Roger  of  Croyland.  Matthew  Paris  says  that  dead  birds 
were  restored  to  life.  For  manuscript  authorities  on  the  miracles,  see 
Butler’s  Lives  of  the  Saints,  Dec.  29. 


IN  ITALY,  FRANCE,  SYRIA,  ETC. 


227 


no  country  in  Europe  which  does  not  exhibit  traces  of 
Becket.  In  Rome  the  chapel  of  the  English  College 
marks  the  site  of  the  ancient  church  dedicated  to  him, 
and  the  relics  attesting  his  martyrdom  are  laid  up  in 
the  Basilica  of  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore  beside  the  cradle 
of  Bethlehem.  In  Verona  the  Church  of  San  Thomaso 
Cantuariense  contains  a  tooth,  and  did  contain  till  re¬ 
cently  part  of  his  much-contested  skull.  A  portion  of 
an  arm  is  still  shown  to  inquiring  travellers  in  a  con¬ 
vent  at  Florence ;  another  portion  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Waldetrude  at  Mons  ;1 2  at  Lisbon,  in  the  time  of  Fuller, 
both  arms  were  exhibited  in  the  English  nunnery ;  his 
chalice  at  Bourbourg,  his  hair  shirt  at  Douay,  his  mitre 
at  St.  Omer.2  In  France,  the  scene  of  his  exile,  his  his¬ 
tory  may  be  tracked  again  and  again.  On  the  heights 
of  Fourvikres,  overlooking  the  city  of  Lyons,  is  a  chapel 
dedicated  to  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  Four  years  be¬ 
fore  his  death,  it  is  said,  he  was  walking  on  the  terraced 
bank  of  the  river  underneath,  and  being  asked  to  whom 
the  chapel  should  be  dedicated,  he  replied,  “  To  the  next 
martyr,”  on  which  his  companion  remarked,  “  Perhaps, 
then,  to  you.”  The  same  story  with  the  same  issue  is 
also  told  at  St.  Lo  in  Normandy.  In  the  same  province, 
at  Val  Richer,  a  tract  of  ground,  still  within  the  memory 
of  men,  was  left  unploughed,  in  recollection  of  a  great 
English  saint  who  had  there  performed  his  devotions. 
In  Sens  the  vestments  in  which  he  officiated 3  and  an 

1  Brasseur’s  Thes.  Relig.  Harmonise,  p.  199  (Butler’s  Lives  of  the 
Saints,  Dec.  29). 

2  Haverden’s  True  Church,  part  iii.  c.  2,  p.  314  (Ibid.). 

3  The  length  of  these  vestments  confirms  the  account  of  his  great 
stature.  (See  “Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  88.)  On  the  Feast  of  Saint 
Thomas,  till  very  recently,  they  were  worn  for  that  one  day  by  the 
officiating  priest.  The  tallest  priest  was  always  selected ;  and  even 
then  it  was  necessary  to  pin  them  up. 


228  SPREAD  OE  THE  WORSHIP  OF  ST.  THOMAS 


ancient  altar  at  which  he  said  Mass,  are  exhibited  in 
the  cathedral;  and  the  old  convent  at  St.  Colombe, 
where  he  resided,  is  shown  outside  the  city.  At  Lille 
there  is  a  house  with  an  inscription  commemorative  of 
his  having  passed  a  night  there.1  In  the  magnificent 
windows  of  Chartres,  of  Sens,  and  of  St.  Ouen,  the  story 
of  his  life  holds  a  conspicuous  place.  At  Palermo  his 
figure  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  Church  of  Monreale, 
founded  by  William  the  Good  in  the  year  of  his  canon¬ 
ization.  Even  far  away  in  Syria,  “  Saint  Thomas  ”  was 
not  forgotten  by  the  crusading  army.  His  name  was 
inscribed  on  the  banner  of  Archbishop  Baldwin,  at 
Acre.  William,  chaplain  of  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s,  on 
his  voyage  thither,  made  a  vow  that  if  he  entered  the 
place  in  safety,  he  would  build  there  a  chapel  to  the 
“  Martyr,”  with  an  adjoining  cemetery  to  bury  the  de¬ 
parted.  The  city  was  taken,  and  the  vow  accomplished. 
William  passed  his  life  within  the  precincts  of  his  church, 
engaged  as  prior  in  the  pious  work  of  interring  the  dead. 
King  Bichard  at  the  same  time  and  place  founded  ah 
order  of  St.  Thomas  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Tem¬ 
plars.  And  from  these  circumstances  one  of  the  names 
by  which  the  saint  henceforward  was  most  frequently 
known  was  “  Thomas  Acrensis,”  or  “  Saint  Thomas  of 
Aeon  or  Acre.”2 

To  trace  his  churches  and  memorials  through  the 
British  dominions  would  be  an  endless  labor.  In  Scot¬ 
land,  within  seven  years  from  the  murder,  the  noble 
Abbey  of  Aberbrothock  3  was  raised  to  his  memory  by 
William  the  Lion,  who  chose  it  for  the  place  of  his  own 

1  Digby's  Mores  Cattolici,  p.  361. 

2  Maitland’s  London,  p.  885;  Diceto,  654;  Mill’s  Crusades,  ii.  89. 

3  The  Abbey  of  Aberbrothock  is  the  ruin  familiar  to  readers  of 
Scott’s  novel  of  the  “  Antiquary  ”  as  “  the  Abbey  of  St.  Ruth.” 


IN  LONDON. 


229 


interment,  partly,  it  would  seem,  from  an  early  friend¬ 
ship  contracted  with  the  Archbishop  at  Henry’s  Court, 
partly  from  a  lively  sense  of  the  Martyr’s  power  in 
bringing  about  his  defeat  and  capture  at  Alnwick.1  A 
mutilated  figure  of  Saint  Thomas  has  survived  amidst  the 
ruins  of  the  monastery.  In  the  rough  borderland  between 
the  two  kingdoms,  no  oath  was  considered  so  binding 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  as  one  which  was  sworn  upon 
“  the  holy  mysteries  ”  and  “  the  sword  of  Saint  Thomas.” 
This,  in  all  probability,  was  the  sword  which  Hugh  de 
Moreville  wore  on  the  fatal  day,  and  which,  being  pre¬ 
served  in  his  native  province,  thus  obtained  the  same 
kind  of  honor  in  the  north  as  that  of  Bichard  Le  Bret 
in  the  south,  and  was  long  regarded  as  the  chief  glory 
of  Carlisle  Cathedral.2  In  England  there  was  hardly  a 
county  which  did  not  possess  some  church  or  convent 
connected  with  Saint  Thomas.  The  immense  prepon¬ 
derance  of  the  name  of  “  Thomas  ”  in  England,  as  com¬ 
pared  with  its  use  in  other  countries,  probably  arose 
from  the  reverence  due  to  the  great  English  saint. 
Next  to  the  name  of  “  John,”  common  to  all  Christen¬ 
dom,  the  most  familiar  to  English  ears  is  “  Tom,”  or 
“  Thomas.”  How  few  of  those  who  bear  or  give  it  re- 

o 

fleet  that  it  is  a  vestige  of  the  national  feeling  of  the 
twelfth  century  !  Another  instance  may  be  found  in  the 
frequency  of  the  name  of  “  Thomas,”  “  the  great  Tom,” 
applied  to  so  many  of  our  ancient  bells.  But  at  that 

1  See  “  Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  143.  The  authorities  for  William’s 
motives  in  the  foundation  of  the  abbey  are  given  in  the  “  Begistrum 
vetusde  Aberbrothock,”  printed  by  the  Bannatyne  Club,  Preface,  p.  12. 

2  See  “  Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  125,  and  the  account  of  the  oath  of 
Bobert  Bruce  at  Carlisle,  in  Holinshed,  ii.  523,  and  the  brief  “  History 
of  Carlisle  Cathedral,”  p.  30,  by  its  former  excellent  Dean,  the  present 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  The  above  statement  reconciles  the  diffi¬ 
culty  about  the  two  swords,  stated  in  Pegge’s  Beauchief  Abbey,  p.  6. 


230  WORSHIP  OF  SAINT  THOMAS  IN  LONDON. 

time  the  reminiscences  of  Saint  Thomas  were  more 
substantial.  Besides  the  swords  already  mentioned, 
probably  of  Moreville  and  of  Le  Bret,  a  third  sword, 
perhaps  of  Tracy  or  Fitzurse,  was  preserved  in  the 
Temple 1  Church  of  London.  At  Derby,  at  Warwick, 
at  St.  Albans,  at  Glastonbury,  were  portions  of  his 
dress ;  at  Chester,  his  girdle ;  at  Alnwick,  or  at  Corby,2 
his  cup;  at  Bury,  his  penknife  and  boots;  at  Windsor 
and  Peterborough,  drops  of  his  blood.3  The  Priory  of 
Woodspring  on  the  Bristol  Channel,  the  Abbey  of 
Beauchief  in  Derbyshire,  were  direct  expiations  of  the 
crime.4  The  very  name  of  the  latter  was  traced,  by 
popular  though  probably  erroneous  belief,  to  its  con¬ 
nection  with  the  “  Bellum  caput,”  or  “Beautiful  head” 
of  the  slaughtered  Archbishop.5  London  was  crowded 
with  memorials  of  its  illustrious  citizen.  The  Chapel 
of  St.  Thomas  of  Acre,  now  merged  in  the  Mercer’s 
Hall,  marked  the  place  of  his  birth,  and  formed  one  of 
the  chief  stations  in  the  procession  of  the  Lord  Mayor.6 
The  chapel  which  guarded  the  ancient  London  Bridge 
was  dedicated  to  Saint  Thomas.  The  seal  of  the  bridge 
“  had  of  old  the  effigies  of  Thomas  of  Becket  (a  Lon¬ 
doner  born)  upon  it,  with  this  inscription  in  the  name 
of  the  city,  ‘  Me  quae  te  peperi,  ne  cessis,  Thoma,7  tueri.’ 
The  solitary  vacant  niche  which  is  seen  in  the  front  of 
Lambeth  Palace,  facing  the  river,  was  once  filled  by  a 

1  See  Inventory  of  the  Temple  Church,  Gentleman’s  Magazine,' 
May,  1858,  p.  516. 

2  Audin’s  History  of  Henry  VIII.,  i.  135. 

3  See  Pegge’s  Beauchief  Abbey,  p.  3  ;  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  p.  229. 

4  See  “  Murder  of  Becket,”  pp.  126,  129. 

5  See  Pegge’s  Beauchief  Abbey,  pp.  6-20.  He  proves  that  the 
ground  on  which  the  abbey  stands  was  called  Beauchief,  or  the  Beauti¬ 
ful  Headland,  prior  to  the  building  of  the  convent. 

6  Maitland’s  London,  p.  885. 

7  Howel’s  Londinopolis,  p.  395  (Notes  and  Queries,  May  22,  1858). 


ALTAR  OF  THE  SWORD’S  POINT. 


231 


statue  of  the  great  Primate,  to  which  the  watermen  of 
the  Thames  doffed  their  caps  as  they  rowed  by  in  their 
countless  barges.” 

But  Canterbury  was,  of  course,  the  centre  of  all. 
St.  Augustine’s  still  stood  proudly  aloof,  and  was  sat¬ 
isfied  with  the  glory  of  Ethelbert’s  baptism,  which  ap¬ 
pears  on  its  ancient  seals ;  but  the  arms  of  the  city  and 
of  the  chapter  represented  “  the  Martyrdom ;  ”  and 
the  very  name  of  “  Christ  Church  ”  or  of  “  the  Holy 
Trinity,”  by  which  the  cathedral  was  properly  desig¬ 
nated,  was  in  popular  usage  merged  in  that  of  the 
“  Church  of  St.  Thomas.” 1 

For  the  few  years  immediately  succeeding  his  death, 
there  was  no  regular  shrine.  The  popular  enthusiasm 
still  clung  to  the  two  spots  immediately  connected 
with  the  murder.  The  transept  in  which  he  died  with¬ 
in  five  years  from  that  time  acquired  the  name  by 
which  it  has  ever  since  been  known,  “The  Martyr¬ 
dom.”  2  This  spot  and  its  subsequent  alterations  have 
been  already  described.  The  flagstone  on  which  his 
skull  was  fractured,  and  the  solid  corner  of  masonry 
in  front  of  which  he  fell,  are  probably  the  only  parts 
which  remain  unchanged.  But  against  that  corner 
may  still  be  seen  the  marks  of  the  space  occupied 
by  a  wooden  altar,  which  continued  in  its  original 
simplicity  through  all  the  subsequent  magnificence  of 
the  church  till  the  time  of  the  Reformation.  It  was 
probably  the  identical  memorial  erected  in  the  first 
haste  of  enthusiasm  after  the  reopening  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  for  worship  in  1172.  It  was  called  the  “Altar 
of  the  Martyrdom,”  or  more  commonly  the  “  Altar  of 
the  Sword’s  Point”  (“Altare  ad  Punctum  Ensis”), 

1  See  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  p.  110;  Somner’s  Canterbury,  p.  18. 

2  See  Gamier,  p.  76,  and  “  Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  102. 


232 


ALTAR  OF  THE  SWORD’S  POINT. 


from  the  circumstance  that  in  a  wooden  shed  placed 
upon  it  was  preserved  the  fragment  of  Le  Bret’s  sword, 
which  had  been  left  on  the  pavement  after  accomplish¬ 
ing  its  bloody  work.  Under  a  piece  of  rock  crystal 1 
surmounting  the  chest,  was  kept  a  portion  of  the  brains. 
To  this  altar  a  regular  keeper  was  appointed  from 
among  the  monks,  under  the  name  of  “  Custos  Mar- 
tyrii.”  In  the  first  frenzy  of  desire  for  the  relics  of 
Saint  Thomas,  even  this  guaranty  was  inadequate.  Two 
memorable  acts  of  plunder  are  recorded  within  the  first 
six  years,  curiously  illustrative  of  the  prevalent  passion 
for  such  objects.  The  first  was  accomplished  by  Bene¬ 
dict,  a  monk  of  Christ  Church,  probably  the  most  dis¬ 
tinguished  of  his  body;  who  was,  in  1176,  appointed 
Abbot  of  Peterborough.  Binding  that  great  establish¬ 
ment  almost  entirely  destitute  of  relics,  he  returned  to 
his  own  cathedral,  and  carried  off  with  him  the  flag¬ 
stones  immediately  surrounding  the  sacred  spot,  with 
which  he  formed  two  altars  in  the  conventual  church 
of  his  new  appointment,  besides  two  vases  of  blood  and 
parts  of  Becket’s  clothing.2  The  other  instance  is  still 
more  remarkable.  The  keeper  of  the  “Altar  of  the  Mar¬ 
tyrdom  ”  at  that  time  was  Roger.  The  monks  of  St. 
Augustine’s  Abbey  offered  to  him  (and  their  chroni¬ 
clers  3  are  not  ashamed  to  boast  of  the  success  of  the 
experiment,  though  affecting  to  despise  any  addition  to 
their  own  ancient  store)  no  less  an  inducement  than 
the  vacant  abbacy,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  through 
his  means  for  their  church  a  portion  of  the  remains  of 

1  See  Note  F. 

2  Robert  of  Swaffham,  in  Hist.  Anglic.,  p.  101.  Benedict  also  built 
a  chapel  to  Saint  Thomas,  by  the  gateway  of  the  Precincts  of  Peter¬ 
borough.  This  still  remains,  and  is  now  used  as  the  cathedral 
school. 

3  Thorne,  1176;  Holinshed. 


THE  TOMB  IN  THE  CRYPT. 


233 


the  sacred  skull,  which  had  been  specially  committed 
to  his  trust.  He  carried  off  the  prize  to  the  rival  es¬ 
tablishment,  and  was  rewarded  accordingly. 

Next  to  the  actual  scene  of  the  murder,  the  object 
which  this  event  invested  with  especial  sanctity  was 
the  tomb  in  which  his  remains  were  deposited  in  the 
crypt 1  behind  the  altar  of  the  Virgin.  It  was  to  this 
spot  that  the  first  great  rush  of  pilgrims  was  made 
when  the  church  was  reopened  in  1172,  and  it  was 
here  that  Henry  performed  his  penance.2  Hither,  on 
the  21st  of  August,  1179,  came  the  first  king  of  France 
who  ever  set  foot  on  the  shores  of  England,  Louis  VII. ; 
warned  by  Saint  Thomas  in  dreams,  and  afterwards, 
as  he  believed,  receiving  his  son  back  from  a  dangerous 
illness  through  the  saint’s  intercession.  He  knelt  by 
the  tomb,  and  offered  upon  it  the  celebrated  jewel  (of 
which  more  shall  be  said  hereafter),  as  also  his  own 
rich  cup  of  gold.  To  the  monks  he  gave  a  hundred 
measures  of  wine,  to  be  paid  yearly  at  Poissy,  as  well 
as  exemption  of  toll,  tax,  and  tallage,3  on  going  to  or 
from  his  domains,  and  was  himself,  after  passing  a 
night  in  prayers  at  the  tomb,  admitted  to  the  fraternity 
of  the  monastery  in  the  Chapter  House.  It  was  on 
this  occasion  (such  was  the  popular  belief  of  the  Dover 
seamen)  that  he  asked  and  obtained  from  the  saint 
(“  because  he  was  very  fearful  of  the  water  ” )  that 
“neither  he  nor  any  others  that  crossed  over  from 
Dover  to  Witsand  should  suffer  any  manner  of  loss  or 

1  See  “  Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  117.  On  one  occasion  the  body  was 
removed  to  a  wooden  chest  in  fear  of  an  assault  from  the  old  enemies 
of  Becket,  who  were  thought  to  be  lurking  armed  about  the  church  for 
that  purpose.  But  they  were  foiled  by  the  vigilance  of  the  monks  and 
by  a  miraculous  storm.  (Benedict,  de  Mirac.,  i.  50.) 

2  See  “Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  140. 

3  Diceto,  604;  Gervase,  1455;  Stow,  155;  Holinshed,  ii.  178. 


234 


THE  EIRE  OF  1174. 


shipwreck.”  1  Eichard’s  first  act,  on  landing  at  Sand¬ 
wich,  after  his  return  from  Palestine,  was  to  walk  all 
the  way  to  Canterbury,  to  give  thanks  “to  God  and 
Saint  Thomas  ”  for  his  deliverance.2  Thither  also 
came  John  in  great  state,  immediately  after  his  coro¬ 
nation.3  The  spot  was  always  regarded  with  rever¬ 
ence,  and  known  by  the  name  of  “  The  Tomb,”  with 
a  special  keeper.  It  would  probably  have  invested 
the  whole  crypt  with  its  own  peculiar  sacredness,  and 
rendered  it  —  like  that  of  Chartres  in  old  times  —  the 
most  important  part  of  the  church,  but  for  an  acci¬ 
dental  train  of  circumstances  which  led  to  the  erec¬ 
tion  of  the  great  shrine  whose  history  is  now  to  be 
unfolded. 

About  four  years  after  the  murder,  on  the  5th  of 
September,  1174,  a  fire  broke  out  in  the  cathedral, 
which  reduced  the  choir  —  hitherto  its  chief  architect¬ 
ural  glory  —  to  ashes.  The  grief  of  the  people  is  de¬ 
scribed  in  terms  which  (as  has  been  before  observed 4 ) 
show  how  closely  the  expression  of  mediaeval  feeling' 
resembled  what  can  now  only  be  seen  in  Italy  or  the 
East :  “  They  tore  their  hair ;  they  beat  the  walls  and 
pavement  of  the  church  with  their  shoulders  and  the 
palms  of  their  hands ;  they  uttered  tremendous  curses 
against  God  and  his  saints,  —  even  the  patron  saint  of 
the  church ;  they  wished  they  had  rather  have  died 
than  seen  such  a  day.”  How  far  more  like  the  de¬ 
scription  of  a  Neapolitan  mob  in  disappointment  at 
the  slow  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  Saint  Januarius, 
than  of  the  citizens  of  a  quiet  cathedral  town  in  the 
county  of  Kent !  The  monks,  though  appalled  by  the 
calamity  for  a  time,  soon  recovered  themselves ;  work- 

1  Lambard’s  Kent,  p.  129.  2  Brompton,  1257. 

3  Diceto,  706.  4  See  “Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  91. 


RESTORATION  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL.  235 

men  and  architects,  French  and  English,  were  pro¬ 
cured  ;  and  amongst  the  former,  William,  from  the 
city  of  Sens,  so  familiar  to  all  Canterbury  at  that 
period  as  the  scene  of  Becket’s  exile.  No  observant 
traveller  can  have  seen  the  two  cathedrals  without 
remarking  how  closely  the  details  of  William’s  work¬ 
manship  at  Canterbury  were  suggested  by  his  recollec¬ 
tions  of  his  own  church  at  Sens,  built  a  short  time 
before.  The  forms  of  the  pillars,  the  vaulting  of  the 
roof,  even  the  very  bars  and  patterns  of  the  windows, 
are  almost  identical.  It  is  needless  to  go  into  the 
story  of  the  restoration,  thoroughly  worked  out  as  it 
has  been  by  Professor  Willis  in  his  “Architectural 
History  of  Canterbury  Cathedral ;  ”  but  it  is  important 
to  observe,  in  the  contemporary  account  preserved  to  us,1 
how  the  position  and  the  removal  of  the  various  relics 
is  the  principal  object,  if  not  in  the  mind  of  the  archi¬ 
tect,  at  least  in  that  of  the  monks  who  employed  him. 
It  was  so  even  for  the  lesser  and  older  relics, —  much 
more  then  for  the  greater  and  more  recent  treasure  for 
which  they  were  to  provide  a  fitting  abode,  and  through 
which  they  were  daily  obtaining  those  vast  pecuniary 
resources  that  alone  could  have  enabled  them  to  re¬ 
build  the  church  on  its  present  splendid  scale.  The 
French  architect  had  unfortunately  met  with  an  acci¬ 
dent,  which  disabled  him  from  continuing  his  opera¬ 
tions.  After  a  vain  struggle  to  superintend  the  works 
by  being  carried  round  the  church  in  a  litter,  he  was 
compelled  to  surrender  the  task  to  a  namesake,  an 
Englishman ;  and  it  is  to  him  that  we  owe  the  design 
of  that  part  of  the  cathedral  which  was  destined  to 
receive  the  sacred  shrine. 

1  Gervase,  in  the  “  Decern  Scriptores  ;  ”  and  Professor  Willis’s  His¬ 
tory  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  chap.  iii. 


236 


SEPULTURE  OE  SAINTS. 


To  those  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  fixed  con¬ 
catenation  of  ideas,  if  one  may  so  speak,  which  guided 
the  arrangement  of  these  matters  at  a  time  when  they 
occupied  so  prominent  a  place  in  the  thoughts  of  men, 
it  might  seem  a  point  of  comparative  indifference  where 
the  tomb  of  the  patron  saint  was  to  be  erected.  But 
it  was  not  so  in  the  age  of  which  we  speak.  In 
this  respect  a  marked  difference  prevailed  between  the 
primitive  and  southern  practice  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  mediaeval  and  northern  practice  on  the  other  hand. 
In  Italy  the  bones  of  a  saint  or  martyr  were  almost 
invariably  deposited  either  beneath  or  immediately  in 
front  of  the  altar.  Partly,  no  doubt,  this  arose  from 
the  apocalyptic  image  of  the  souls  crying  from  beneath 
the  altar;  chiefly  from  the  fact  that  in  the  original 
burial-places  of  the  catacombs  the  altar,  or  table  of 
the  Eucharistic  feast,  was  erected  over  the  grave  of 
some  illustrious  saint,  so  that  they  might  seem  even 
in  death  to  hold  communion  with  him.  Eminent  in¬ 
stances  of  this  practice  may  be  seen  at  Rome,  in  the 
vault  supposed  to  contain  the  remains  of  Saint  Peter ; 
and  at  Milan,  in  that  which  in  the  cathedral  is  occu¬ 
pied  by  the  grave  of  Saint  Carlo  Borromeo,  and  in 
the  Church  of  St.  Ambrogio  by  that  of  Saint  Ambrose. 
But  in  the  G-othic  nations  this  original  notion  of  the 
burial-place  of  the  saints  became  obscured,  in  the  in¬ 
creasing  desire  to  give  them  a  more  honorable  place. 
According  to  the  precise  system  of  orientation  adopted 
by  the  German  and  Celtic  nations,  the  eastern  portion 
of  the  church  was  in  those  countries  regarded  as  pre¬ 
eminently  sacred.  Thither  the  high  altar  was  gradu¬ 
ally  moved,  and  to  it  the  eyes  of  the  congregation  were 
specially  directed.  And  in  the  eagerness  to  give  a 
higher  and  holier  even  than  the  highest  and  the  holiest 


SEPULTURE  OF  SAINTS. 


237 


place  to  any  great  saint  on  whom  popular  devotion  was 
fastened,  there  sprang  up  in  most  of  the  larger  churches 
during  the  thirteenth  century  a  fashion  of  throwing 
out  a  still  farther  eastern  end,  in  which  the  shrine 
or  altar  of  the  saint  might  be  erected,  and  to  which, 
therefore,  not  merely  the  gaze  of  the  whole  congrega¬ 
tion,  but  of  the  officiating  priest  himself,  even  as  he 
stood  before  the  high  altar,  might  be  constantly  turned. 
Thus,  according  to  Fuller’s  quaint  remark,  the  super¬ 
stitious  reverence  for  the  dead  reached  its  highest  pitch, 
—  “  the  porch  saying  to  the  churchyard,  the  church  to 
the  porch,  the  chancel  to  the  church,  the  east  end  to 
all,  ‘  Stand  further  off,  I  am  holier  than  thou.’  ”  1  This 
notion  happened  to  coincide  in  point  of  time  with  the 
burst  of  devotion  towards  the  Virgin  Mary,  which  took 
place  under  the  Pontificate  of  Innocent  III.,  during 
the  first  years  of  the  thirteenth  century ;  and  therefore, 
in  all  cases  where  there  was  no  special  local  saint,  this 
eastern  end  was  dedicated  to  “  Our  Lady,”  and  the 
chapel  thus  formed  was  called  the  “  Lady  Chapel.” 
Such  was  the  case  in  the  cathedrals  of  Salisbury, 
Norwich,  Hereford,  Wells,  Gloucester,  and  Chester. 
But  when  the  popular  feeling  of  any  city  or  neighbor¬ 
hood  had  been  directed  to  some  indigenous  object  of 
devotion,  this  at  once  took  the  highest  place ;  and  the 
Lady  Chapel,  if  any  there  were,  was  thrust  down  to  a 
less  honorable  position.  Of  this  arrangement,  the  most 
notable  instances  in  England  are,  or  were  (for  in  many 
cases  the  very  sites  have  perished),  the  shrines  of  St. 
Alban  in  Hertfordshire,  St.  Edmund  at  Bury,  St.  Ed¬ 
ward  in  Westminster  Abbey,  St.  Cuthbert  at  Durham, 
and  St.  Etheldreda  at  Ely. 

These  were  the  general  principles  which  determined 

1  Church  History,  ii.  cent.  viii.  28. 


238 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  EAST  END. 


the  space  to  be  allotted  to  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas  in 
the  reconstruction  of  Canterbury  Cathedral.1  In  ear¬ 
lier  times  the  easternmost  chapel  had  contained  an 
altar  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  where  Becket  had  been 
accustomed  to  say  Mass.  Partly  for  the  sake  of  pre¬ 
serving  the  two  old  Norman  towers  of  St.  Anselm  and 
St.  Andrew,  which  stood  on  the  north  and  south  side 
of  this  part  of  the  church,  but  chiefly  for  the  sake  of 
fitly  uniting  to  the  church  this  eastern  chapel  on  an 
enlarged  scale,  the  pillars  of  the  choir  were  contracted 
with  that  singular  curve  which  attracts  the  eye  of 
every  spectator,  —  as  Gervase  foretold  that  it  would, 
when,  in  order  to  explain  this  peculiarity,  he  stated 
the  two  aforesaid  reasons.2  The  eastern  end  of  the 
cathedral,  thus  enlarged,  formed,  as  at  Ely,  a  more 
spacious  receptacle  for  the  honored  remains ;  the  new 
Trinity  Chapel,  reaching  considerably  beyond  the  ex¬ 
treme  limit  of  its  predecessor,  and  opening  beyond  into 
a  yet  further  chapel,  popularly  called  “  Becket’s  Crown.” 
The  windows  were  duly  filled  with  the  richest  painted 
glass  of  the  period,  and  amongst  those  on  the  northern 
side  may  still  be  traced  elaborate  representations  of 
the  miracles  wrought  at  the  subterraneous  tomb,  or 
by  visions  and  intercessions  of  the  mighty  saint.  High 
in  the  tower  of  St.  Anselm,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
destined  site  of  so  great  a  treasure,  was  prepared  —  a 
usual  accompaniment  of  costly  shrines  —  the  “Watch¬ 
ing  Chamber.’’  3  It  is  a  rude  apartment,  with  a  fire¬ 
place  where  the  watcher  could  warm  himself  during 
the  long  winter  nights,  and  a  narrow  gallery  between 

1  Gervase  (in  Willis’s  Canterbury  Cathedral,  p.  56). 

2  Ibid.,  p.  60. 

3  A  similar  purpose  may  be  assigned  to  the  structures  near  the  site 
of  St.  Erideswide’s  Shrine  in  the  Cathedral  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford  ; 
and  of  St.  Alban’s  Shrine  in  the  Abbey  of  St.  Albans,  in  Hertfordshire. 


TRANSLATION  OF  THE  RELICS. 


239 


the  pillars,  whence  he  could  overlook  the  whole  plat¬ 
form  of  the  shrine,  and  at  once  detect  any  sacrilegious 
robber  who  was  attracted  by  the  immense  treasures 
there  collected.  On  the  occasion  of  fires  the  shrine  was 
additionally  guarded  by  a  troop  of  fierce  bandogs.1 

When  the  cathedral  was  thus  duly  prepared,  the 
time  came  for  what,  in  the  language  of  those  days, 
was  termed  the  “  translation  ”  of  the  relics. 

It  was  the  year  1220,  —  in  every  sense,  so  the  con¬ 
temporary  chronicler  observes,2  an  auspicious  moment. 
It  seemed  to  the  people  of  the  time  as  if  the  long  de¬ 
lay  had  been  interposed  in  order  that  a  good  king  and 
a  good  archbishop  might  be  found  together  to  solemnize 
the  great  event.  The  wild  Richard  and  the  wicked 
John  had  gone  to  their  account,  and  there  was  now 
seated  on  the  throne  the  young  Henry  III. ;  his  child¬ 
hood  (for  he  was  but  a  boy  of  thirteen),  his  unpretend¬ 
ing  and  inoffensive  character,  won  for  him  a  reputation 
which  he  hardly  deserved,  but  which  might  well  be 
granted  to  him  after  such  a  predecessor.  The  first 
troubled  years  of  his  reign  were  finished  ;  the  later 
calamities  had  not  begun.  He  had  just  laid  the  first 
foundation  of  the  new  Abbey  Church  of  Westminster, 
and  all  recollection  of  his  irregular  coronation  at 
Gloucester  had  been  effaced  by  his  solemn  inaugura¬ 
tion  on  May  17,  the  Whitsunday  of  this  very  year. 
The  primate  to  whose  work  the  lot  fell,  was  one  whose 
name  commands  far  more  unquestioned  respect  than 
the  weak  King  Henry;  it  was  the  Cardinal  Arch¬ 
bishop,  the  great  Stephen  Langton,  whose  work  still 
remains  amongst  us  in  the  familiar  division  of  the 

1  Ellis’s  Original  Letters,  third  series,  iii.  164, 

2  Robert  of  Gloucester,  who  observes  all  the  coincidences  in  his 
metrical  “  Life  of  Becket,”  2820. 


240 


LANGTON. 


Bible  into  chapters,  and  in  the  Magna  Charta,  which 
he  was  the  chief  means  of  wresting  from  the  reluc¬ 
tant  John.  He  was  now  advanced  in  years,  recently 
returned  from  his  long  exile,  and  had  just  assisted  at 
the  coronation  of  the  king  at  Westminster.  The  year 
also  and  the  day,  in  that  age  of  ceremonial  observance 
of  times  and  seasons,  seemed  providentially  marked 
out  for  such  an  undertaking.  The  year  was  the  fiftieth 
year  from  the  murder,  which  thus  gave  it  the  appear¬ 
ance  of  a  jubilee ;  and  it  was  a  bissextile  or  leap  year, 
and  this  seemed  an  omen  that  no  day  would  be  want¬ 
ing  for  the  blessings  to  be  procured  through  the  Mar¬ 
tyr’s  intercession.  The  day  also  was  marked  by  the 
coincidences  which  had  made  a  lasting  impression  on 
the  minds  of  that  period,  —  Tuesday,  the  7th  of  July : 
Tuesday,  the  fatal  day  of  Becket’s  life ;  the  7th  of 
July  also,  the  same  day  of  the  month  on  which  thirty 
years  before  the  remains  of  his  royal  adversary,  Henry 
II.,  had  been  carried  to  the  vault  of  the  Abbey  of  Fon- 
tevraud.1  There  must  have  been  those  living  who  re¬ 
membered  the  mournful  spectacle :  the  solitary  hearse 
descending  from  the  castle  of  Chin  on,  where  the  un¬ 
happy  king  had  died  deserted  by  friends  and  children  ; 
the  awful  scene  when  the  scanty  procession  was  met 
at  the  entrance  of  the  abbey  by  Richard,  —  when  the 
face  of  the  dead  corpse  was  uncovered  as  it  lay  on  the 
bier,  marked  with  the  expression  of  the  long  agony  of 
death,  —  when  (according  to  the  popular  belief)  blood 
gushed  from  the  nostrils,  as  if  to  rebuke  the  unnatural 
son  for  his  share  in  having  thus  brought  his  father’s 
gray  hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

1  All  these  coincidences  are  noticed  by  Langton  in  a  tract  or  sermon 
circulated  by  him  in  the  following  year,  to  keep  up  the  memory  of  the 
Translation,  published  in  Giles’s  Collection,  ii.  276. 


LANGTON. 


241 


The  contrast  of  that  scene  with  the  funeral,  which 
now  took  place  on  the  anniversary  of  the  day,  in  1220, 
must  have  been,  even  to  indifferent  bystanders,  most 
striking.  It  was  indeed  a  magnificent  spectacle.  Such 
an  assemblage  had  never  been  collected  in  any  part 
of  England  before  ; 1  all  the  surrounding  villages  were 
filled,— 

“  Of  bishops  and  abbots,  priors  and  parsons, 

Of  earls,  and  of  barons,  and  of  many  knights  thereto ; 

Of  serjeants,  and  of  squires,  and  of  husbandmen  enow 
And  of  simple  men  eke  of  the  land  —  so  thick  thither  drew.”  2 

The  Archbishop  had  given  two  years’  notice  in  a 
proclamation,  circulated  not  only  throughout  England 
but  throughout  Europe ;  and  through  the  range  of  his 
episcopal  manors  had  issued  orders  for  maintenance 
to  be  provided  for  the  vast  multitude,  not  only  in  the 
city  of  Canterbury  itself,  but  on  the  various  roads  by 
which  they  would  approach.3  During  the  whole  cele¬ 
bration,  along  the  whole  way  from  London  to  Canter¬ 
bury,  hay  and  provender  was  given  to  all  who  asked;4 
and  at  each  gate  of  Canterbury,5  in  the  four  quarters 
of  the  city,  and  in  the  four  licensed  cellars,  were  placed 
tuns  of  wine,  to  be  distributed  gratis ;  and  on  the  day 
of  the  festival  wine  ran  freely  through  the  gutters  of 
the  streets.6 

On  the  eve  of  the  appointed  day  the  Archbishop, 
with  Richard,  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  the  whole  body 
of  monks,  headed  by  their  prior,  Walter,  entered  the 
crypt  by  night  with  psalms  and  hymns ;  and  after 
prayer  and  fasting,  at  midnight  solemnly  approached 

1  Waverley  Annals;  Gale’s  Scriptores,  iii.  185. 

2  Eobert  of  Gloucester,  2848.  8  Waverley  Annals  ;  Gale. 

4  Polistoire.  See  Note  A.  5  Knyghton,  2430. 

6  Archseologia,  ix.  42 ;  Polistoire.  See  Note  A. 

16 


242 


LANGTON. 


the  tomb  and  removed  the  stones  which  closed  it,  and 
with  tears  of  joy  1  saw  for  the  first  time  the  remains  of 
the  saint.  Four  priests,  distinguished  for  the  sanctity 
of  their  lives,  took  out  the  relics,  —  first  the  head  (then, 
as  always,  kept  separate),  and  offered  it  to  he  kissed. 
The  hones  were  then  deposited  in  a  chest  well  studded 
with  iron  nails  and  closed  with  iron  locks,  and  laid  in 
a  secret  chamber. 

The  next  day  a  long  procession  entered  the  cathe¬ 
dral.  It  was  headed  by  the  young  king,  —  “  King  Hen¬ 
ry,  the  young  child.”  Next  was  the  Italian  Pandulf, 
Bishop  of  Norwich,  and  Legate  of  the  Holy  See ;  and 
Archbishop  Langton,  accompanied  by  his  brother  Pri¬ 
mate  of  Prance,  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims.  With 
them  was  Hubert  de  Burgh,  the  Lord  High  Justiciary 
and  greatest  statesman  of  his  time,  and  “four  great 
lordlings,  noble  men  and  tried.”  On  the  shoulders  of 
this  distinguished  band  the  chest  was  raised,  and  the 
procession  moved  forward.  The  king,  on  account  of 
his  tender  age,  was  not  allowed  to  take  any  part  in 
bearing  the  sacred  load.  Onwards  it  was  borne,  and 
up  the  successive  stages  of  the  cathedral,  till  it  reached 
the  shrine  awaiting  its  reception,  eastward  of  the  Pa¬ 
triarchal  Chair,2  and  there  it  was  deposited.  Mass 
was  celebrated  by  the  French  Primate,  in  the  midst  of 
nearly  the  whole 3  episcopate  of  the  province  of  Can¬ 
terbury,  before  an  altar,  which,  placed  in  front  of  the 
screen  of  the  choir,  was  visible  to  the  vast  congrega¬ 
tion  assembled  in  the  nave.4  The  day  was  enrolled 
amongst  the  great  festivals  of  the  English  Church  as 

1  Robert  of  Gloucester,  2374. 

2  Polistoire.  See  Note  A. 

3  Three  only  were  absent.  See  Note  A. 

4  Dr.  Pauli’s  History  of  England,  iii.  529. 


APPROACH  PROM  SANDWICH. 


243 


the  Feast  of  the  Translation  of  Saint  Thomas.  The 
expenses  incurred  by  the  See  of  Canterbury  were 
hardly  paid  off  by  Langton’s  fourth  successor.1 

And  now  began  the  long  succession  of  pilgrimages 
which  for  three  centuries  gave  Canterbury  a  place 
amongst  the  great  resorts  of  Christendom,  and  which, 
through  Chaucer’s  poem,  have  given  it  a  lasting  hold 
on  the  memory  of  Englishmen  as  long  as  English  lit¬ 
erature  exists.  Let  us  endeavor,  through  the  means  of 
that  poem  and  through  other  incidental  notices,  to  re¬ 
produce  the  picture  of  a  mode  of  life  which  has  now 
entirely  passed  away  from  England,  though  it  may  still 
be  illustrated  from  some  parts  of  the  Continent. 

There  were  during  this  period  three  great  approaches 
to  Canterbury.  For  pilgrims  who  came  from  the  east¬ 
ern  parts  of  Europe,  Sandwich  was  the  ordinary  place 
of  debarkation.  From  this  point  the  kings  of  Eng¬ 
land  on  their  return  from  France,  and  the  kings  of 
France  on  their  way  to  England,  must  commonly  have 
made  their  journey.  Two  records  of  this  route  are  pre¬ 
served  by  foreigners.2  In  one  respect  the  travellers  of 
that  age  and  this  were  on  a  level.  As  they  crossed  the 
Channel,  they  were  dreadfully  sea-sick,  and  “  lay  on  the 
deck  as  if  they  were  dead ;  ”  but  they  had  still  life 
enough  left  to  observe  the  various  objects  of  the  strange 
land  that  they  were  approaching.  The  white  cliffs  of 
Dover,  as  they  rose  into  view  above  the  sea,  seemed 
“  like  mountains  of  snow ;  ”  of  Dover  Castle  they  speak 
as  we  might  speak  of  Sebastopol,  —  “  the  strongest  for¬ 
tress  in  Christendom.”  Sailing  by  this  tremendous 

1  Knyghton,  2730. 

2  See  the  short  account  of  the  visit  of  Sigismund  in  1417,  by  Wen- 
deck  ;  and  the  longer  account  of  the  visit  of  the  Bohemian  ambassador 
in  1446,  as  given  in  Note  B. 


244 


APPROACH  FROM  SOUTHAMPTON. 


place, —  the  work,  they  were  told,  of  evil  spirits,  —  they 
arrived  at  Sandwich.  It  is  striking  to  perceive  the  im¬ 
pression  which  that  now  decayed  and  deserted  haven 
produced  on  their  minds ;  they  speak  of  it  as  we  might 
speak  of  Liverpool  or  Portsmouth,  —  the  resort  of  ships 
from  all  quarters,  vessels  of  every  size,  —  now  seen  by 
them  for  the  first  time ;  and  most  of  all,  the  agility  of 
the  sailors  in  running  up  and  down  the  masts,  —  one, 
especially,  absolutely  incomparable.  From  this  busy 
scene  they  moved  onwards  to  Canterbury.  Their  ex¬ 
pectations  had  been  highly  raised  by  its  fame  in  foreign 
parts ;  at  a  distance,  however,  the  point  that  chiefly 
struck  them  was  the  long  line  of  leaden  roof,  un¬ 
like  the  tiled  covering  of  the  continental  cathedrals.1 
What  they  saw  at  the  Shrine  of  “  Saint  Thomas  of 
Kandelberg,”  2  as  they  called  him  in  their  own  coun¬ 
try,  shall  be  seen  as  we  proceed. 

Another  line  of  approach  was  along  the  old  British 
track  which  led  across  the  Surrey  downs  from  South¬ 
ampton  ;  it  can  still  be  traced  under  the  name  3  of  the 
Pilgrims’  Way,  or  the  Pilgrims’  Lane,  marked  often  by 
long  lines  of  Kentish  yews,  —  usually  creeping  half¬ 
way  up  the  hills  immediately  above  the  line  of  cultiva¬ 
tion,  and  under  the  highest  crest,  —  passing  here  and 
there  a  solitary  chapel  or  friendly  monastery,  but  avoid¬ 
ing  for  the  most  part  the  towns  and  villages  and  the 
regular  roads,  probably  for  the  same  reason  as  “in 
the  days  of  Sliamgar,  the  son  of  Anath,  the  highways 

1  “Desuper  stanno  totum  contegitur.”  (Leo  von  Rotzmital,  pp.  39, 
44.)  They  observe  the  same  of  Salisbury.  (Ibid.,  p.  46.) 

2  So  he  is  called  both  by  the  Bohemians  (see  Note  B)  and  by 
the  Germans.  (Wendeck’s  Life  of  the  Emperor  Sigismund,  chap, 
xlii.) 

3  See  Mr.  Way’s  account  of  the  “  Pilgrims’  Road,”  in  Note  D. 


“CANTERBURY  TALES.’ 


245 


were  unoccupied,  and  the  travellers  walked  through 
bye- ways.”  1 

This  must  have  been  the  usual  route  for  pilgrims 
from  Normandy  and  from  the  West  of  England.  But 
no  doubt  the  most  frequented  road  was  that  from  Lon¬ 
don,  celebrated  in  Chaucer’s  poem  of  the  “  Canterbury 
Tales.”  It  would  be  out  of  place  here  to  enter  on  any 
general  review  of  that  remarkable  work.  All  that  can 
here  be  proposed  is  to  examine  how  far  the  poem  illus¬ 
trates,  or  is  illustrated  by,  the  Canterbury  pilgrimage 
which  suggested  it. 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  observe  that  every  element 
of  society  except  the  very  highest  and  lowest  was  rep¬ 
resented,  —  the  knight,  the  yeoman,  the  prioress  with 
her  attendant  nuns  and  three  priests,  the  monk,  the 
friar,  the  merchant,  the  Oxford  scholar,  the  lawyer, 
the  squire,  the  five  tradesmen,  the  cook,  the  shipman, 
the  physician,  the  great  clothier  of  Bath,  the  parish 
priest,  the  miller,  the  reeve,  the  manciple,  the  ap¬ 
paritor  of  the  law-courts,  the  seller  of  indulgences, 
and  the  poet  himself.  These  no  doubt  are  selected  as 
the  types  of  the  classes  who  would  ordinarily  have 
been  met  on  such  an  excursion.  No  one  can  read  the 
account  of  their  characters,  still  less  the  details  of 
their  conversation,  without  being  struck  by  the  ex¬ 
tremely  miscellaneous  nature  of  the  company.  On  the 
one  hand,  we  see  how  widely  the  passion  for  pilgrim¬ 
ages  extended,  how  completely  it  swept  into  its  vortex 
all  the  classes  who  now  travel  together  in  excursion - 
trains  or  on  Rhine  steamboats.  On  the  other  hand, 
we  see  how  light  a  touch  it  laid  on  the  characters  of 
those  concerned,  —  how  much  of  levity,  how  little 

1  Compare  Arnold’s  Lectures  on  Modern  History  (Lecture  II.), 
where  the  same  observation  is  made  on  ancient  roads  generally. 


246 


CANTERBURY  TALES.1 


of  gravity,  was  thought  compatible  with  an  object  pro¬ 
fessedly  so  serious.  As  relics  took  the  place  of  all  the 
various  natural  objects  of  interest  which  now  occupy 
the  minds  of  religious,  literary,  or  scientific  men,  so 
pilgrimages  took  the  place  of  modern  tours.  A  pil¬ 
grim  was  a  traveller  with  the  same  adventures,  stories, 
pleasures,  pains,  as  travellers  now ;  the  very  names  by 
which  we  express  the  most  listless  wanderings  are 
taken  from  pilgrimages  to  the  most  solemn  places. 
If  we  may  trust  etymological  conjectures,  a  “roamer” 
was  one  who  had  visited  the  Apostles’  graves  at  Rome ; 
and  a  “  saunterer  ”  one  who  had  wandered  through  the 
“  Sainte  terre,”  or  Holy  Land ;  and,  in  like  manner,  the 
easy  “canter”  of  our  modern  rides  is  an  abbreviation, 
comparatively  recent,  of  the  “  Canterbury  gallop,”  1  de¬ 
rived,  no  doubt,  from  the  ambling  pace  of  the  Canter¬ 
bury  pilgrims.  Let  us  be  thankful  for  the  practice  in 
this  instance,  as  having  given  us  in  Chaucer’s  prologue 
an  insight  into  the  state  of  society  in  the  fourteenth 
century  such  as  nothing  else  can  furnish. 

In  the  second  place,  we  learn,  from  his  selection  of 
such  a  company  and  such  a  time  as  the  vehicle  of  his 
tales,  how  widely  spread  was  the  fame  of  Canterbury 
as  the  resort  of  English  pilgrims.  Every  reader,  he 
felt,  would  at  once  understand  the  scene  ;  and  that  he 
felt  truly  is  shown  by  the  immense  popularity  of  his 
work  at  the  time.  And  further,  though  the  details  of 
the  plan  as  laid  down  in  his  prologue  are  a  mere  crea¬ 
tion  of  the  poet’s  fancy,  yet  the  practice  of  telling 
stories  on  the  journeys  to  and  from  Canterbury  must 
have  been  common  in  order  to  give  a  likelihood  to  such 

1  Even  in  Johnson’s  Dictionary,  “  Canterbury  gallop  ”  is  given  as 
the  full  expression,  of  which  “  canter  ”  is  only  mentioned  as  a  collo¬ 
quial  corruption. 


*  CANTERBURY  TALES.1 


247 


a  plan.  It  was  even  a  custom  for  the  bands  of  pilgrims 
to  be  accompanied  by  hired  minstrels  and  story-tellers, 
as  the  friends  of  the  practice  maintained,  that  “  with 
such  solace  the  travail  and  weariness  of  pilgrims  might 
be  lightly  and  merrily  borne  out ;  ”  as  their  enemies 
said,  “that  they  might  sing  wanton  songs,  and  then, 
if  these  men  and  women  be  half  a  month  out  in  their 
pilgrimage,  many  of  them  shall  be,  half  a  year  after, 
great  jugglers,  story-tellers,  and  liars.”  1  And,  in  point 
of  fact,  the  marvels  that  were  related  on  these  occa¬ 
sions,  probably  on  the  return  from  the  wonder-working 
shrine,  were  such  as  to  have  given  rise  to  the  proverbial 
expression  of  a  “  Canterbury  Tale,”  as  identical  with 
a  fabulous  story.  It  is  noticed  as  such  even  as  late  as 
the  time  of  Fuller,2  and  although  it  is  now  probably 
extinct  in  England,  it  travelled  with  many  other  old 
provincialisms  across  the  Atlantic ;  and  our  brethren 
of  the  United  States,  when  they  come  to  visit  our 
metropolitical  city,  are  struck  by  the  strange  familiar¬ 
ity  with  which  its  name  recurs  to  them,  having  from 
their  earliest  years  been  accustomed  to  hear  a  marvel¬ 
lous  story  followed  by  the  exclamation,  “  What  a  Can¬ 
terbury  !  ”  3  In  conceiving  the  manner  in  which  these 
tales  were  related,  a  moment’s  reflection  will  show  us 
that  they  were  not  told,  as  we  often  imagine,  to  the 
whole  company  at  once.  Every  one  who  has  ridden  in 
a  cavalcade  of  travellers  along  a  mountain  pathway  — 
and  such,  more  or  less,  were  the  roads  of  England  at 
the  time  of  Chaucer  —  will  see  at  once  that  this  would 


1  Dialogue  of  Archbishop  Arundel  and  William  Thorpe  (Nichols’s 
Erasmus,  p.  188). 

2  Fuller’s  Worthies,  Kent  (Proverbs). 

3  This  observation  I  derived  from  an  intelligent  American  clergy¬ 
man  on  a  visit  to  Canterbury. 


248 


“CANTERBURY  TALES.” 


be  impossible.  Probably  they  were,  in  point  of  fact,  re¬ 
lated  in  the  midday  halts  or  evening  meals  of  the  party. 
In  the  present  instance  the  poet  represents  the  host  as 
calling  the  story-teller  out  of  the  ranks  to  repeat  the 
tale  to  him  as  the  judge.  “  Do  him  come  forth,”  he 
cries  to  the  cook ;  and  to  the  monk,  “  Read  forth,  mine 
own  Lord ;  ”  1  and  the  rest  hear  or  not,  according  to  their 
curiosity  or  their  nearness,  —  a  circumstance  which  to 
some  extent  palliates  the  relation  of  some  of  the  coarser 
stories  in  a  company  which  contained  the  prioress,  the 
nuns,  the  parson,  and  the  scholar. 

Finally,  we  cannot  fail  to  mark  how  thoroughly  the 
time  and  season  of  the  year  falls  in  with  the  genius  and 
intention  of  the  poet.  It  was,  he  tells  us,  the  month 
of  April.  Every  year,  as  regular  as  “April  with  his 
showers  sweet  ”  “  the  drought  of  March  hath  pierced 
to  the  root,”  came  round  again  the  Pilgrims’  start,  — 

“  When  Zephyrus  eke  with  his  sweet  breath 
Inspired  hath  in  every  holt  and  heath, 

The  tender  crops . 

And  small  fowls  are  making  melody 
That  sleepen  all  night  with  open  eye  .  .  . 

Then  longen  folk  to  go  on  pilgrimages. 

And  specially  from  every  shire’s  end 
Of  England,  to  Canterbury  they  wend 
The  holy  blissful  martyr  for  to  seek, 

That  them  hath  holpen  when  that  they  were  sick.” 

These  opening  lines  give  the  color  to  Chaucer’s  whole 
work  ;  it  is  in  every  sense  the  spring  of  English  poe¬ 
try  ;  through  every  line  we  seem  to  feel  the  freshness 
and  vigor  of  that  early  morning  start,  —  as  the  merry 
cavalcade  winds  its  way  over  the  hills  and  forests  of 
Surrey  or  of  Kent.  Never  was  the  scene  and  atmos¬ 
phere  of  a  poem  more  appropriate  to  its  contents,  more 
naturally  sustained  and  felt  through  all  its  parts, 
i  Chaucer,  16960,  13930. 


“  CANTERBURY  TALES.” 


249 


When  from  the  general  illustrations  furnished  by 
the  Canterbury  pilgrimage  we  pass  to  the  details  of 
the  poem,  there  is  unfortunately  but  little  light  thrown 
by  one  upon  the  other.  Not  only  are  the  stages  of  the 
route  indistinctly  marked,  but  .the  geography  of  the 
poem,  though  on  a  small  scale,  introduces  incongruities 
almost  as  great  as  those  of  the  “  Winter’s  Tale  ”  and 
the  “Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.”  The  journey,  al¬ 
though  at  that  time  usually  occupying  three  or  four 
days,  is  compressed  into  the  hours  between  sunrise 
and  sunset  on  an  April  day :  an  additional  pilgrim  is 
made  to  overtake  them  within  seven  miles  of  Canter¬ 
bury,  “  by  galloping  hard  for  three  miles ;  ”  and  the 
tales  of  the  last  two  miles  occupy  a  space  equal  to  an 
eighth  part  of  the  whole  journey  of  fifty  miles.  Still, 
such  as  the  local  notices  are,  they  must  be  observed. 

It  was  at  the  Tabard  Inn  in  Southwark  that  the 
twenty-nine  pilgrims  met.  The  site  of  the  house  is 
now  marked  by  a  humble  tavern, — the  Talbot  Inn,  No. 
75  High  Street,  Borough-road;1  a  modern  front  faces 
the  street,  but  at  the  back  of  a  long  passage  a  court¬ 
yard  opens,  surrounded  by  an  ancient  wooden  gallery, 
not  dating,  it  is  said,  beyond  the  sixteenth  century. 
Some  likeness,  however,  of  the  older  arrangements  is 
probably  still  preserved.  Its  former  celebrity  is  com¬ 
memorated  by  a  large  picture  or  sign,  hung  from  its 
balustrade,  which  represents,  in  faded  colors,  the  Cav¬ 
alcade  of  the  Pilgrims.  Its  ancient  sign  must  have 
been  the  coat  or  jacket,  now  only  worn  by  heralds,  but 
then  by  noblemen  in  war ;  and  it  was  no  doubt  se¬ 
lected  as  the  rendezvous  of  the  Pilgrims,  as  the  last 
inn  on  the  outskirts  of  London  before  entering  on  the 
Wilds  of  Surrey.  Another  inn,  long  since  disappeared, 

1  Alas !  the  last  traces  of  the  Tabard  Inn  disappeared  in  1875. 


250 


CANTERBURY  TALES.” 


entitled  “The  Bell,”  was  close  by.  The  Tabard  was 
doubtless,  then,  one  of  the  most  flourishing  hotels  in 
London,  — 

“  The  chambers  and  the  halls  were  wide.” 

The  host  was  a  man  of  consideration,  — 

“  A  fairer  burgess  was  there  none  in  Cheep  ;  ” 

that  is,  Cheapside,  then  the  abode  of  the  wealthiest 
citizens  of  London.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  well- 
known  character;  and  his  name,  Henry  Bailey,  was 
remembered  even  till  the  time  of  Elizabeth.1 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  28th  of  April,  “  when 
the  day  began  to  spring,”  that  the  company  set  forth 
from  the  inn,  headed  by  the  host,  who  was  to  act  as 
guide,  and  who  “gathered  them  together  in  a  flock.” 
Those  who  have  seen  the  move  of  an  Eastern  caravan 
of  European  travellers  can  best  form  a  notion  of  the 
motley  group  of  grave  and  gay,  old  and  young,  that 
must  have  often  been  then  gathered  on  the  outskirts 
of  London.  A  halt  took  place  “a  little  more  than  a 
pace,”  at  the  second  milestone,  at  the  spring  called 
from  this  circumstance  “the  Waterings  of  St.  Thomas ; ”2 
thus  corresponding  to  the  well-known  halt  which  cara¬ 
vans  make  a  few  miles  from  Cairo,  on  the  first  day’s 
march,  to  see  whether  all  the  party  are  duly  assem¬ 
bled  and  all  the  necessaries  for  the  long  journey  duly 
provided. 

At  half-past  seven  A.M.  they  reached  Deptford  and 
Greenwich,  — 

“Lo  Deptford,  and  is  half  way  prime  : 

Lo  Greenwich,  there  many  a  shrew  is  in.” 

By  midday,  — 

“  Lo  Rochester  standeth  here  fast  by.”  3 

1  Tyrwhitt.  Preface  to  Chaucer,  §  5.  See  also  the  elaborate  ac« 
count  of  the  inn  in  Knight’s  Chaucer’s  Tales. 

2  Chaucer,  828.  3  Ibid.,  1390,  3950. 


ENTRANCE  INTO  CANTERBURY.  251 

Sittingbourne  was  probably  the  place  for  refresh¬ 
ment ; 

“  Before  I  come  to  Sidenbourne,”  1 

implies  that  it  was  a  point  to  be  looked  for  as  a  halt. 

And  now  they  were  approaching  the  steep  hills  of 
the  forest  of  Blean,  when,  probably  anxious  to  join 
them  before  that  long  ascent,  “at  Boughton  under 
Blee,”  the  village  which  lies  at  the  western  foot  of  the 
hill,  —  a  new  companion  overtook  them,  the  servant  of 
the  rich  canon,  —  so  powerful  an  alchemist,  that  they 
are  assured,  as  they  go  up  the  steep  paved  road,  as  it 
then  was,  now  within  seven  miles  from  their  destina¬ 
tion,  — 

That  all  the  ground  on  which  we  be  riding, 

Till  that  we  come  to  Canterbury  town, 

He  could  all  clean  turn  upside  down, 

And  pave  it  all  of  silver  and  of  gold.”  2 

They  now  passed  the  point  where  all  travellers  along 
that  road  must  have  caught  the  welcome  sight  of  the 
central  tower  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  with  the  gilded 
Angel  then  shining  on  its  summit.  For  a  moment  the 
tower  is  seen,  and  then  disappears,  as  the  road  sinks 
again  amidst  the  undulations  of  the  wild  country, 
which  still  retains  the  traces  of  what  was  the  great 
forest  of  Blee,  or  Blean,  —  famous  in  recent  times  as 
the  resort  of  the  madman,  or  fanatic,  who  rallied  round 
him,  in  1838,  the  rude  peasants  of  the  neighboring 

1  Chaucer,  6428.  In  the  German  account  of  Sigismund’s  visit,  it 
is  mentioned  as  “  Signpotz.”  ( Wendeck,  chap,  xlii.) 

2  Chaucer,  16024,  16066.  It  is  an  ingenious  conjecture  of  Tyr- 
whitt,  that  a  great  confusion  has  been  here  introduced  ;  that  the  “  Nun’s 
Tale  ”  was  intended  to  be  on  the  return  from  Canterbury ;  and  hence 
the  otherwise  difficult  expression  of  the  “  five  miles  ”  silence  before 
she  begins,  and  of  the  “  three  miles  ”  gallop  of  the  canon’s  servant  to 
overtake  them.  But  as  the  text  stands  in  Tyrwhitt’s  edition,  the  order 
must  be  as  I  have  represented  it.  The  arrangement  of  the  manu¬ 
scripts  of  Chaucer  is  evidently  very  doubtful. 


252 


ENTRANCE  INTO  CANTERBURY, 


villages  in  the  thicket  of  Bosenden  Wood.  But  they 
were  now  at  the  last  halting-place, — just  where  the 
forest  ends,  just  where  the  hilly  ascent  rises  and  falls 
for  the  last  time,  — 

“  Wist  ye  not  where  standeth  a  little  town, 

Which  that  ycleped  is  Bob  up  and  down, 

Under  the  Blee  in  Canterbury  way.”  1 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  “  little  town  ”  was 
the  old  village  of  Harbledown,  clustered  round  the  an¬ 
cient  lazar-house  of  Lanfranc.2  Its  situation  on  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  under  the  forest  of  Blean,  suggested 
to  the  pilgrims  the  familiar  name  by  which  it  is  here 
called.  They  had  but  to  go  “  up  and  down  ”  once  more, 
and  the  cathedral  burst  upon  them.  It  was  now,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  poet’s  calculation,  four  in  the  afternoon, 
and  they  would  easily  reach  Canterbury  before  sunset. 

Unfortunately,  he 

“  who  left  half  told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold,” 

has  left  unfinished  the  story  of  the  travellers.  The . 
plan  was  to  have  embraced  the  arrival  at  Canterbury, 
and  the  stories  of  what  there  befell  to  be  told  on  their 
return,  and  the  supper  at  the  Tabard,  when  the  host 
was  to  award  the  prize  to  the  best.  For  lovers  of 
Chaucer’s  simple  and  genial  poetry  this  is  much  to 
be  lamented ;  but  for  historical  purposes  the  gap  is  in 
a  great  measure  filled  by  the  “  Supplementary  Tale,” 3 

1  Chancer,  16950.  The  explanation  here  given  has  been  contested 
by  Mr.  Eurnivall. 

2  It  was  sometimes  called  the  Hospitale  de  bosco  de  Blean.  (Dug- 
dale,  vol.  i.  part  ii.  p.  653.) 

3  The  “  Supplementary  Tale  ”  is  printed  in  Urry’s  edition  of  Chau¬ 
cer,  from  a  manuscript  which  is  now  lost ;  and  is  reprinted  from 
thence  in  Wright’s  edition  of  Chaucer,  Percy  Society,  xxvi.  191-318, 
from  whom  I  have  quoted  it,  modernizing  the  spelling  to  make  it 
intelligible. 


JUBILEES. 


253 


evidently  written  within  a  short  time  after  the  poet’s 
death,  which  relates  the  story  of  their  arrival,  and  a 
few  of  their  adventures  in  the  city.  By  the  help  of 
this,  and  whatever  other  light  can  be  thrown  on  the 
subject,  we  may  endeavor  to  reproduce  the  general 
aspect  which  Canterbury  and  its  pilgrims  presented  on 
their  arrival. 

A  great  difference  doubtless  would  have  been  made 
according  to  the  time  when  we  entered  Canterbury, 
whether  with  such  an  occasional  group  of  pilgrims  as 
might  visit  the  shrine  at  ordinary  seasons,  or  on  the 
great  days  of  Saint  Thomas ;  either  the  winter  festival 
of  his  “  Martyrdom,”  on  the  29th  of  December,  or  the 
summer  festival  of  the  “  Translation  ”  of  his  relics,  on  the 
7th  of  July,1  which  (as  falling  in  a  more  genial  season) 
was  far  more  frequented.  Still  greater  would  have 
been  the  difference  had  we  been  there  at  one  of  the  ju¬ 
bilees, — that  is,  one  of  the  fiftieth  anniversaries  of  the 
“Translation;”  when  indulgences  were  granted  to  all 
who  came,  and  the  festival  lasted  for  a  fortnight,  dating 
from  midnight  on  the  vigil  of  the  feast.  There  were, 
from  the  first  consecration  of  the  shrine  to  its  final 
overthrow,  six  such  anniversaries,  —  1270,  1320,  1370, 
1420,  1470,  1520.  What  a  succession  of  pictures  of 
English  history  and  of  the  religious  feeling  of  the  time 
would  be  revealed  if  we  could  but  place  ourselves  in 
Canterbury  as  those  successive  waves  of  pilgrimage 
rolled  through  the  place,  bearing  with  them  all  their 
various  impressions  of  the  state  of  the  world  at  that 
time  !  On  one  of  those  occasions,  in  1420,  no  less 
than  a  hundred  thousand  persons  were  thus  collected. 

1  On  this  day  began  the  annual  Canterbury  Fair,  which  continued 
long  after  the  cessation  of  the  Pilgrimage,  under  the  name  of  “  Beck- 
et’s  Fair.”  (Somner’s  Canterbury,  p.  124.) 


254 


JUBILEES. 


They  came  from  all  parts,  but  chiefly  from  the  British 
dominions,  at  that  time  —  immediately  after  the  great 
battle  of  Agincourt  —  extending  far  over  the  neighbor¬ 
ing  continent.  Englishmen,  with  their  language  just 
struggling  into  existence ;  Scotch,  Irish,  and  Welsh, 
with  their  different  forms  of  Celtic;  Frenchmen  and 
Normans,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  Channel  Islands, 
pouring  forth  their  questions  in  French,  — are  amongst 
those  expressly  stated  to  have  been  present.1  How 
various,  too,  the  motives,  —  some,  such  as  kings  and 
ministers  of  state,  from  policy  and  ancient  usage; 
others  merely  for  the  excitement  of  a  long  journey 
with  good  companions ;  others  travelling  from  shrine 
to  shrine,  as  men  now  travel  from  watering-place  to 
watering-place,  for  the  cure  of  some  obstinate  disorder ; 
some  from  the  genuine  feeling  of  religion,  that  ex¬ 
presses  itself  in  lowly  hearts  under  whatever  is  the 
established  form  of  the  age ;  some  from  the  grosser 
superstition  of  seeking  to  make  a  ceremonial  and  lo¬ 
cal  observance  the  substitute  for  moral  acts  and  holy 
thoughts.  What  a  sight,  too,  must  have  been  pre¬ 
sented,  as  all  along  the  various  roads  through  the  long 
summer  day  these  heterogeneous  bands  —  some  on 
horseback,  some  on  foot  —  moved  slowly  along,  with 
music  and  song  and  merry  tales,  so  that  “  every  town 
they  came  thro’,  what  with  the  noise  of  their  singing, 
and  with  the  sound  of  their  piping,  and  with  the 
jangling  of  their  Canterbury  bells,  and  with  the  bark¬ 
ing  of  the  dogs  after  them,  they  made  more  noise  than 
if  the  King  came  there  with  all  his  clarions  and  many 
other  minstrels.  .  .  .  And  when  one  of  the  pilgrims 
that  goeth  barefoot  striketh  his  toe  upon  a  stone,  and 
hurteth  him  sore,  and  maketh  him  bleed,”  then  “his 
1  Somner,  part  i.,  Appendix,  no.  xliv. 


THE  INNS. 


255 


fellow  sings  a  song,  or  else  takes  out  of  his  bosom  a 
bagpipe  to  drive  away  with  wit  and  mirth  the  hurt  of 
his  fellow.”  1  Probably  at  the  first  sight  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  this  discordant  clamor  would  be  exchanged  for 
more  serious  sounds,  —  hymns,  and  exhortations,  and 
telling  of  beads,  — even  Chaucer’s  last  tale  between 
Harbledown  and  Canterbury  is  a  sermon ;  and  thus 
the  great  masses  of  human  beings  would  move  into 
the  city. 

Their  first  object  would  be  to  find  lodgings.  It  is 
probable  that  to  meet  this  want  there  were  many  more 
inns  at  Canterbury  than  at  present.  At  the  great  sanc¬ 
tuary  of  Einsiedlen,  in  Switzerland,  almost  every  house 
in  the  long  street  of  the  straggling  town  which  leads 
up  to  the  monastery  is  decorated  with  a  sign,  amount¬ 
ing  altogether  to  no  less  than  fifty.  How  many  of  the 
present  inns  at  Canterbury  date  from  that  time  cannot 
perhaps  be  ascertained.  One — the  Star  Inn,  in  St.  Dun- 
stan’s  Parish,  which  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  recep¬ 
tacle  of  the  pilgrims  who  there  halted  on  their  entrance 
into  the  town  —  has  long  since  been  absorbed  in  the 1 
surrounding  houses.  But  the  site  and  in  part  the 
buildings  of  the  lodgings  which,  according  to  the  “  Sup¬ 
plementary  Tale,”  received  the  twenty-nine  pilgrims  of 
Chaucer,  can  still  be  seen,  although  its  name  is  gone 
and  its  destination  altered.2  “The  Chequers  of  the 
Hope  ”  occupied  the  antique  structure  which,  with  its 
broad  overhanging  eaves,  forms  so  picturesque  an  ob¬ 
ject  at  the  corner  of  High  Street  and  Mercery  Lane. 
It  was  repaired  on  a  grand  scale  by  Prior  Chillenden,^ 

1  William  Thorpe’s  Examination,  in  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  p.  188. 

2  “  At  Chekers  of  the  Hope  that  every  man  doth  know.”  —  Supple¬ 
mentary  Tale,  14. 

8  Wharton’s  Anglia  Sacra,  i.  143.  “  Unum  hospitium  famosum 

vocatum  ‘  Le  Cheker  ’  cum  aliis  diversis  mausionibus,  nobiliter  cediji - 


256 


THE  CHEQUERS. 


shortly  after  the  time  of  Chaucer.  Its  vicinity  to  the 
great  gate  of  the  precincts  naturally  pointed  it  out  as 
one  of  the  most  eligible  quarters  for  strangers,  whose 
main  object  was  a  visit  to  the  shrine ;  and  the  remains 
still  observable  in  the  houses,  which  for  more  than  two 
centuries  have  been  occupied  by  the  families  of  the 
present  inhabitants,1  amply  justify  the  tradition.  It 
was  a  venerable  tenement,  entirely  composed,  like 
houses  in  Switzerland,  of  massive  timber,  chiefly  oak 
and  chestnut.  An  open  oblong  court  received  the  pil¬ 
grims  as  they  rode  in.  In  the  upper  story,  approached 
by  stairs  from  the  outside,  which  have  now  disappeared, 
is  a  spacious  chamber,  supported  on  wooden  pillars,  and 
covered  by  a  high  pitched  wooden  roof,  traditionally 
known  as  “  the  Dormitory  of  the  Hundred  Beds.” 
Here  the  mass  of  the  pilgrims  slept ;  and  many  must 
have  been  the  prayers,  the  tales,  the  jests,  with  which 
those  old  timbers  have  rung,' — many  and  deep  the 
slumbers  which  must  have  refreshed  the  wearied  trav¬ 
ellers  who  by  horse  and  foot  had  at  last  reached  the 
sacred  city.  Great,  too,  must  have  been  the  interest 
with  which  they  walked  out  of  this  crowded  dormi¬ 
tory  at  break  of  day  on  the  flat  leads  which  may  be 
still  seen  running  round  the  roof  of  the  court,  and  com¬ 
manding  a  full  view  of  the  vast  extent  of  the  south¬ 
ern  side  of  the  cathedral.  With  the  cathedral  itself  a 

cavit”  Does  this  mean  “  repaired  ”  or  “  built  ”  ?  If  the  latter,  the 
reception  of  Chaucer’s  “  pilgrims  in  the  Chequers  ”  is  an  anachro¬ 
nism  of  the  “  Supplementary  Tale.”  He  also  built  the  Crown  Inn. 
But  it  may  he  questioned  whether  the  “  Cheker  ”  is  not  the  inn  (di- 
versorium.)  mentioned  in  connection  with  the  Cheker  or  saccarium 
(counting-house)  in  the  precincts  adjoining  the  present  Library.  (Wil¬ 
lis’s  Conveutuai  Buildings  of  Christ  Church,  p.  102.) 

1  To  the  obliging  attention  of  the  present  occupants  I  owe  the  in¬ 
formation  here  given. 


THE  CONVENTS. 


257 


communication  is  said  to  exist  by  means  of  a  subter¬ 
raneous  gallery,  of  which  the  course  can  be  in  part 
traced  under  the  houses  on  the  western  side  of  Mercery 
Lane. 

Besides  the  inns,  were  many  other  receptacles  for  the 
pilgrims,  both  high  and  low.  Kings  and  great  persons 
often  lodged  in  St.  Augustine’s  Abbey.  Over  the  gate 
of  the  abbey  a  sculptured  figure  represents  a  pilgrim 
resting  with  a  wallet  on  his  back.  Many  would  find 
shelter  in  the  various  hospitals  or  convents,  —  of  St. 
John,  St.  Gregory,  St.  Lawrence,  and  St.  Margaret ;  of 
the  Gray,  of  the  Black,  and  of  the  Austen  Friars.  The 
Hospital  of  Eastbridge  both  traced  its  foundation  to 
Saint  Thomas,  whose  name  it  bore,  and  also  was  in¬ 
tended  for  the  reception  of  pilgrims ; 1  twelve  of  whom 
were,  especially  if  sick,  to  be  provided  with  beds  and 
attendance.  Above  all,  the  priory  attached  to  the  ca¬ 
thedral  would  feel  bound  to  provide  for  the  reception 
of  guests  on  whose  contributions  and  support  its  fame 
and  wealth  so  greatly  depended.  It  is  by  bearing  this 
in  mind  that  we  are  enabled  to  understand  how  so 
large  a  part  of  conventual  buildings  was  always  set 
aside  for  strangers.  Thus,  for  example,  by  far  the 
greater  portion  of  the  gigantic  monastery  of  the  Grande 
Chartreuse  was  intended  to  be  occupied  by  guests.  The 
names  of  “Aula  Burgundiae,”  “Aula  Franciae,”  “ Aula 
Aquitaniae,”  still  mark  the  assignment  of  the  vast  halls 
to  the  numerous  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  feudal  and 
at  that  time  still  divided  France,  who,  swarming  from 
the  long  galleries  opening  into  their  private  chambers, 
were  there  to  be  entertained  in  common.  So  on  a 
lesser  scale  at  Canterbury :  the  long  edifice  of  old  gray 
stone,  long  apportioned  as  the  residence  of  “  the  elev- 

1  Dugdale,  vol.  i.  part  ii.  p.  91. 

17 


258 


ENTRANCE  INTO  THE  CATHEDRAL. 


enth  canon,”  overlooking  “  the  Oaks,”  then  the  garden 
of  the  convent,  was  the  receptacle  for  the  greater 
guests ; 1  that  at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  “  Green- 
court,”  for  the  ordinary  guests,  who  were  brought 
through  the  gate  of  the  court,  thence  under  the  old 
wooden  cloister,  which  still  in  part  remains,  and  then 
lodged  in  the  Strangers’  Hall,  with  a  steward  appointed 
to  look  after  all  their  wants.2 

In  the  city  many  preparations  were  made  for  the 
chief  Festival  of  Saint  Thomas.  A  notice  was  placed  on 
a  post  in  the  “  King  Street,”  opposite  the  “  Court  Hall,” 
ordering  the  provision  of  lodging  for  pilgrims.  Expen¬ 
sive  pageants  were  got  up,  in  which  the  “  Martyrdom  ” 
was  enacted,  on  the  eve  of  the  festival.3  Accounts  are 
still  preserved  of  payments  for  “  Saint  Thomas’s  gar¬ 
ment,”  and  the  “knights’  armour,”  and  gunpowder  for 
fireworks,  and  “  staves  and  banners,”  to  be  carried  out 
before  the  “  morris  pykes  ”  and  the  gunners.4 

From  these  various  receptacles  the  pilgrims  would 
stream  into  the  precincts.  The  outside  aspect  of  the' 
cathedral  can  be  imagined  without  much  difficulty,  — a 
wide  cemetery,  which  wfith  its  numerous  gravestones, 
such  as  that  on  the  south  side  of  Peterborough  Ca¬ 
thedral,  occupied  the  vacant  space  still  called  the 
Churchyard,  divided  from  the  garden  beyond  by  the 
old  Norman  arch  since  removed  to  a  more  convenient 
spot.  In  the  cemetery  were  interred  such  pilgrims  as 
died  during  their  stay  in  Canterbury.  The  external 

1  Somner,  Appendix,  p.  13,  no.  xvii. 

2  Somner,  p.  93. 

3  Archasologia,  xxxi.  207-209.  Such  plays  were  probably  general 
on  this  festival.  There  is  in  the  archives  of  Norwich  Cathedral  a  record 
of  their  performance  on  the  Eve  of  Saint  Thomas,  at  the  ancient  Chapel 
of  St.  William,  the  Patron  Saint  of  Norwich,  on  Mousehold  Heath. 

4  Hasted,  iv.  573. 


THE  NAVE. 


259 


aspect  of  the  cathedral  itself,  with  the  exception  of 
the  numerous  statues  which  then  filled  its  now  vacant 
niches,  must  have  been  much  what  it  is  now.  Not  so 
its  interior.  Bright  colors  on  the  roof,  on  the  windows, 
on  the  monuments;  hangings  suspended  from  the  rods 
which  may  still  be  seen  running  from  pillar  to  pillar ; 
chapels  and  altars  and  chantries  intercepting  the  view, 
where  now  all  is  clear,  must  have  rendered  it  so  differ¬ 
ent  that  at  first  we  should  hardly  recognize  it  to  he  the 
same  building. 

At  the  church  door  the  miscellaneous  company  of 
pilgrims  had  to  arrange  themselves  “every  one  after 
his  degree,”  — 

“  The  courtesy  gan  to  rise 

Till  the  knight  of  gentleness  that  knew  right  well  the  guise, 

Put  forth  the  prelate,  the  parson,  and  his  fere.” 1 

Here  they  encountered  a  monk,  who  with  the  “spren- 
gel  ”  sprinkled  all  their  heads  with  holy  water.  After 
this, 

“  The  knight  went  with  his  compeers  round  the  holy  shrine, 

To  do  that  they  were  come  for,  and  after  for  to  dine.” 

The  rest  are  described  as  waiting  for  a  short  time  be¬ 
hind,  the  friar  trying  to  get  the  “  sprengel  ”  as  a  device 
to  see  the  nun’s  face ;  whilst  the  others  —  the  “  par¬ 
doner,  and  the  miller,  and  other  lewd  sots  ”  —  amused 
themselves  with  gaping  at  the  fine  painted  windows,  of 
which  the  remnants  in  the  choir  are  still  a  chief  orna¬ 
ment  of  the  cathedral,  but  which  then  filled  the  nave 
also.  Their  great  difficulty  was  —  not  unnaturally  — 
to  make  out  the  subjects  of  the  pictures. 

“  ‘  He  beareth  a  ball-staff,’  quoth  the  one,  *  and  also  a  rake’s  end ;  ’ 

‘  Thou  failest,’  quoth  the  miller,  *  thou  hast  not  well  thy  mind  ; 

It  is  a  spear,  if  thou  canst  see,  with  a  prick  set  before. 

To  push  adown  his  enemy,  and  through  the  shoulder  bore.’  ” 


1  Supplementary  Tale,  134 


260 


THE  MARTYRDOM. 


“  Peace/’  quoth  the  host  of  Southwark,  breaking  in 
upon  this  idle  talk,  — 

“  ‘  Let  stand  the  window  glazed  ; 

Go  up  and  do  your  offerings,  ye  seemeth  half  amazed.’  ” 1 

At  last,  therefore,  they  fall  into  the  tide  of  pilgrims, 
and  we  have  now  to  follow  them  through  the  church. 
There  were  two  courses  adopted,  —  sometimes  they  paid 
their  devotions  at  the  shrine  first,  and  at  the  lesser  ob¬ 
jects  afterwards ;  sometimes  at  the  shrine  last.  The 
latter  course  will  be  most  convenient  to  pursue  for 
ourselves.2 

The  first  object  was  the  Transept  of  the  Martyrdom. 
To  this  they  were  usually  taken  through  the  dark  pas¬ 
sage  under  the  steps  leading  to  the  choir.  It  was  great¬ 
ly  altered  after  the  time  of  the  murder :  the  column  by 
which  Becket  had  taken  his  stand  had  been  removed  to 
clear  the  view  of  the  wooden  altar  erected  to  mark  the 
spot  where  he  fell ;  the  steps  up  which  he  was  ascend¬ 
ing  were  removed,  and  a  wall,  part  of  which  still  re¬ 
mains,3  was  drawn  across  the  transept  to  facilitate  the 
arrangements  of  the  entrance  of  great  crowds.  The 
Lady  Chapel,  which  had  then  stood  in  the  nave,  had 
now  taken  the  place  of  the  chapels  of  St.  Benedict  and 
St.  Blaise,  which  were  accommodated  to  their  new  des¬ 
tination.  The  site,  however,  of  the  older  Lady  Chapel 
in  the  nave  was  still  marked  by  a  stone  column.  On 
this  column  —  such  was  the  story  told  to  foreign  pil¬ 
grims —  had  formerly  stood  a  statue  of  the  Virgin, 
which  had  often  conversed  with  Saint  Thomas  as  he 
prayed  before  it.  The  statue  itself  was  now  shown  in 

1  Supplementary  Tale,  1 50. 

2  The  following  account  is  taken  chiefly  from  Erasmus’s  Pilgrimage, 
with  such  occasional  illustrations  as  are  furnished  from  other  sources. 

3  The  rest  was  removed  in  1734.  (Hasted,  iv.  520.) 


THE  CRYPT. 


261 


the  choir,  covered  with  pearls  and  precious  stones.1 
An  inscription  2  over  the  door,  still  legible  in  the  seven¬ 
teenth  century,  rudely  indicated  the  history  of  the  whole 
scene,  — 

Est  sacer  intra  locus  venerabilis  atque  beatus 
Proesul  ubi  Sanctus  Thomas  est  martyrisatus.” 

Those  who  visited  the  spot  in  the  close  of  the  fifteenth 
century  might  have  seen  the  elaborate  representation 
of  the  “Martyr”  in  the  stained  glass  of  the  transept 
window.  All  that  now  remains  is  the  long  central 
band,  giving  the  figures  of  the  donors,  King  Edward 
IV.  and  his  queen,  the  princesses  his  daughters,  and 
the  two  unhappy  children  that  perished  in  the  Tower. 

Before  the  wooden  altar  the  pilgrims  knelt,  and  its 
guardian  priest  exhibited  to  them  the  various  relics 
confided  to  his  especial  charge.  But  the  one  which  sur¬ 
passed  all  others  was  the  rusty  fragment  of  Le  Bret’s 
sword,  which  was  presented  to  each  in  turn  to  be 
kissed.  The  foreign  pilgrims,  by  a  natural  mistake, 
inferred,  from  the  sight  of  the  sword,  that  the  “  Martyr  ” 
had  suffered  death  by  beheading.3  They  were  next  led 
down  the  steps  on  the  right  to  the  crypt,  where  a  new 
set  of  guardians  received  them.  On  great  occasions 
the  gloom  of  the  old  Norman  aisles  was  broken  by  the 
long  array  of  lamps  suspended  from  the  rings  still  seen 
in  the  roof,  each  surrounded  by  its  crown  of  thorns. 
Here  were  exhibited  some  of  the  actual  relics  of  Saint 
Thomas,  —  part  of  his  skull,  cased  in  silver,  and  also 
presented  to  be  kissed;  and  hanging  aloft  the  cele¬ 
brated  shirt4  and  drawers  of  hair-cloth,  which  had 

1  Leo  von  Rotzmital,  p.  154  ;  Note  B.  On  the  whole,  it  seems  more 
likely  that  the  Lady  Chapel  in  the  nave  is  meant  than  that  in  the  crypt. 
But  this  is  doubtful. 

2  Somner,  p.  91.  8  See  Leo  von  Rotzmital ;  Note  B. 

4  So  it  was  seen  by  Erasmus.  (See  Nichols,  p.  47.)  In  1465  it  seems 


262 


THE  CHOIR. 


struck  such  awe  into  the  hearts  of  the  monks  on  the 
night  of  his  death.1  This  was  all  that  ordinary  pil¬ 
grims  were  allowed  to  see ;  hut  if  they  were  persons  of 
rank,  or  came  with  high  recommendations,  they  were 
afterwards  permitted  to  return,  and  the  prior  himself 
with  lights  exhibited  the  wonders  of  the  Chapel  of  Our 
Lady  Undercroft,  carefully  barred  with  iron  gates,  but 
within  glittering  with  treasures  beyond  any  other  like 
shrine  in  England.  Some  portion  of  the  stars  of  bright 
enamel  may  still  be  seen  on  the  roof. 

Emerging  from  the  crypt,  the  pilgrims  mounted  the 
steps  to  the  choir,  on  the  north  side  of  which  the  great 
mass  of  general  relics  were  exhibited.  Most  of  them 
were  in  ivory,  gilt,  or  silver  coffers.  The  bare  list  of 
these  occupies  eight  folio  pages,  and  comprises  upwards 
of  four  hundred  items  ;2  some  of  these  always,  but 
especially  the  arm  of  Saint  George,3  were  offered  to 
be  kissed. 

“  The  holy  relics  each  man  with  his  mouth 
Kissed,  as  a  goodly  monk  the  names  told  and  taught.” 

Those  who  were  curious  as  to  the  gorgeous  altar-cloths, 
vestments,  and  sacred  vessels  were  also  here  indulged 
with  a  sight  of  these  treasures  in  the  grated  vault  be¬ 
neath  the  altar. 

Leaving  the  choir,  they  were  brought  to  the  sacristy 

to  have  been  suspended  (much  as  the  Black  Prince’s  coat)  over  the  lid 
of  the  shrine.  (Leo  von  Rotzmital,  p.  154 ;  Note  B.)  A  fragment  ap¬ 
parently  of  the  original  tomb  was  here  shown ;  namely,  a  slip  of  lead 
inscribed  with  the  title  by  which  he  was  sometimes  known,  —  “  Thomas 
Acrensis.”  See  Nichols,  pp.  47,  120. 

1  See  “  Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  116. 

2  As  given  in  an  Inventory  of  1315.  See  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  pp.  124, 
155;  Dart’s  Antiquities  of  Canterbury,  Appendix,  pp.  iv-xviii. 

3  The  name  is  not  given  by  Erasmus  (p.  48)  ;  but  the  prominence 
given  in  Leo’s  account  to  the  right  arm  of  “  our  dear  Lord,  the  Knight 
St.  George  ”  (Note  B)  seems  to  fix  it. 


ST.  ANDREW’S  TOWER. 


263 


in  the  northern  aisle  in  St.  Andrew’s  Tower.  Here, 
again,  the  ordinary  class  of  pilgrims  was  excluded ;  hut 
to  the  privileged  were  shown,  besides  the  vast  array  of 
silk  vestments  and  golden  candlesticks,  what  were  far 
more  valuable  in  their  eyes,  —  the  rude  pastoral  staff 
of  pearwood,  with  its  crook  of  black  horn,  the  rough 
cloak,  and  the  bloody  handkerchief  of  the  “  Martyr  ” 
himself.  There  was,  too,  a  chest  cased  with  black 
leather,  and  opened  with  the  utmost  reverence  on 
bended  knees,  containing  scraps  and  rags  of  linen, 
with  which  (the  story  must  be  told  throughout)  the 
saint  wiped  his  forehead  and  blew  his  nose.1 

And  now  they  have  reached  the  holiest  place.  Be¬ 
hind  the  altar,  as  has  been  already  observed,  was  erected 
the  shrine  itself.  What  seems  to  have  impressed  every 
pilgrim  who  has  left  the  record  of  his  visit,  as  absolutely 
peculiar  to  Canterbury,  was  the  long  succession  of  as¬ 
cents,  by  which  “  church  seemed,”  as  they  said,  “  to  be 
piled  on  church,”  and  “  a  new  temple  entered  as  soon 
as  the  first  was  ended.”  2  This  unrivalled  elevation  of 
the  sanctuary  of  Canterbury  was  partly  necessitated  by 
the  position  of  the  original  crypt,  partly  by  the  desire 
to  construct  the  shrine  immediately  above  the  place  of 
the  saint’s  original  grave, — that  place  itself  being  beauti¬ 
fied  by  the  noble  structure  which  now  encloses  it.  Up 
these  steps  the  pilgrims  mounted,  many  of  them  prob¬ 
ably  on  their  knees ;  and  the  long  and  deep  indentations 
in  the  surface  of  the  stones  even  now  bear  witness  to 
the  devotion  and  the  number  of  those  who  once  as- 

1  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  pp.  49,  57,  156.  I  quote  the  original  words  : 
“  Fragmenta  linteorum  lacera  plerumque  mucci  vestigium  servantia. 
His,  ut  aiebant,  vir  pius  extergebat  sudorem  e  facie,  sive  collo.  pituitam 
a  naribus,  aut  si  quid  esset,  similium  sordium  quibus  non  vacent  hu* 
mana  corpuscula.” 

2  Note  B,  and  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  p.  50. 


264 


TRINITY  CHAPEL. 


cended  to  the  sacred  platform  of  the  eastern  chapeL 
The  popular  hymn  to  Saint  Thomas,  if  it  was  not  sug¬ 
gested,  must  at  least  have  been  rendered  doubly  im¬ 
pressive,  by  this  continual  ascent :  — 

“  Tu,  per  Thomse  sanguinem 
Quem  pro  te  iinpendit, 

Fac  nos  Christo  scandere 
Quo  Thomas  ascendit. 

Gloria  et  honore  coronasti  earn  Domine 

Et  constituisti  enm  supra  opera  manuum  tuarum 

Ut  ejus  mentis  et  precibus  a  Gehennas  incendiis  liberemur.”  1 

Near  these  steps,  not  improbably,2  they  received  ex¬ 
hortations  from  one  or  more  of  the  monks  as  they 
approached  the  sacred  place. 

Trinity  Chapel  in  the  thirteenth  century,  immedi¬ 
ately  after  the  erection  of  the  shrine,  must  have  pre¬ 
sented  a  very  different  aspect  from  that  which  it  wore  a 
few  generations  later.  The  shrine  then  stood  entirely 
alone ;  no  other  mortal  remains  had  yet  intruded  into 
the  sacred  solitude.  Gradually  this  rule  was  broken 
through ;  and  the  pilgrim  of  the  fifteenth  century  must 
have  beheld  the  shrine  flanked  on  the  right  hand  and 
the  left  by  the  tombs  of  the  Black  Prince  and  of  Henry 
IV.,  then  blazing  with  gold  and  scarlet.  Why  Arch¬ 
bishop  Courtenay  was  brought  into  so  august  a  company, 
is  not  clear ;  it  was  against  his  own  wish,  and  is  said 
to  have  been  at  the  express  command  of  King  Richard 
II.,  who  was  at  Canterbury  at  the  time.3  These,  how¬ 
ever,  were  the  only  exceptions. 


1  Wharton’s  Anglia  Sacra,  i.  121. 

2  Such  seems  the  most  probable  explanation  of  the  stone  desk  in 
the  corresponding  position  in  Gloucester  Cathedral.  Near  the  same 
place  in  Canterbury  Cathedral  in  later  times  was  erected  the  desk  for 
the  Bible  and  Fox’s  Martyrs. 

3  See  “Edward  the  Black  Prince,”  p.  175. 


THE  CROWN.  — THE  SHRINE. 


265 


The  pilgrims  were  first  led  beyond  the  shrine  to  the 
easternmost  apse,  where  was  preserved  a  golden  like¬ 
ness  of  the  head  of  the  saint,1  richly  studded  with 
jewels.  This  either  contained,  or  had  contained,  the 
scalp  or  crown  of  the  saint,  severed  by  Le  Bret’s  sword ; 
and  this  probably  was  the  altar  often  mentioned  in 
offerings  as  the  “  Altar  of  the  Head,” 2  which  gave  its 
name  to  the  eastern  apse,  called,  from  this,  “  Becket’s 
Crown.” 

We  now  arrive  at  the  shrine.  Although  not  a  trace 
of  it  remains,  yet  its  position  is  ascertainable  beyond 
a  doubt,  and  it  is  easy  from  analogy  and  description  to 
imagine  its  appearance.  Two  rude  representations  of  it 
still  exist, — one  in  a  manuscript  drawing  in  the  British 
Museum,  the  other  in  an  ancient  stained  window  in 
Canterbury  Cathedral.3  We  are  also  assisted  by  the 
accurate  descriptions  which  have  been  preserved  of  the 
Shrine  of  St.  Cuthbert  of  Durham,4  and  by  the  only 
actual  shrine 5  now  remaining  in  England,  —  that  of 

1  See  Nichols,  pp.  115,  116,  118.  There  is  a  confusion  about  the 
position  of  this  relic ;  but  on  the  whole,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
it  must  at  times  have  been  exhibited  in  this  place.  When  the  shrine 
was  opened,  so  much  of  the  skull  was  found  with  the  rest  of  the  bones, 
that  a  doubt  naturally  arose  whether  the  large  separate  portion  of  the 
skull  shown  elsewhere  was  not  an  imposture.  See  Declaration  of 
Faith,  1539;  Nichols,  p.  236  ;  and  Notes  C  and  F. 

2  The  origin  of  the  name  of  “  Becket’s  Crown  ”  is  doubtful.  Pro¬ 
fessor  Willis  (History  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  p.  56)  regards  it  as 
an  architectural  term.  Mr.  Way  (see  Note  F)  regards  it  as  derived 
from  the  scalp.  The  question  is  one  which  admits  of  much  antiquarian 
argument. 

3  A  fac-simile  of  the  drawing  in  the  Cotton  MS.  is  annexed, 
with  an  explanatory  note.  An  engraving  and  explanation  of  the 
representation  in  the  Canterbury  window  will  be  found  in  Note  K. 

4  See  Willis’s  Canterbury  Cathedral,  p.  100. 

5  In  Chester  Cathedral  part  of  the  Shrine  of  St.  Werburga  re¬ 
mains,  converted  into  the  episcopal  throne.  In  Hereford  Cathedral 
the  shrine  of  St.  Ethelbert  remains,  but  is  a  mere  tomb.  In  foreign 
churches  the  shrines  of  the  Three  Kings  at  Cologne,  of  St.  Ferdinand 


266 


THE  S HEINE. 


Edward  the  Confessor  in  Westminster  Abbey.  The 
space  which  it  covered  may  still  be  traced  by  the 
large  purple  stones  which  surround  the  vacant  square. 
Above  its  eastern  extremity  was  fixed  in  the  roof  a 
gilded  crescent,  still  remaining.  It  has  been  conjec¬ 
tured,  with  some  reason,  that  it  may  have  been  brought 
by  some  crusading  pilgrim  from  the  dome  of  an  Ori¬ 
ental  mosque,  and  that  round  it  a  group  of  Turkish 
flags  and  horsetails  hung  from  the  roof  over  the  shrine 
beneath,  —  like  the  banners  of  St.  George’s  Chapel, 
Windsor.1  At  its  western  extremity,  separating  it  from 
the  Patriarchal  Chair,  which  stood  where  the  Commu¬ 
nion  Table  is  now  placed,  extended  the  broad  pavement 
of  mosaic,  with  its  border  of  circular  stones,  ornamented 
with  fantastic  devices,  chiefly  of  the  signs  of  the  Zo¬ 
diac,  similar  to  that  which  surrounds  the  contemporary 
tombs  of  Edward  the  Confessor  and  Henry  III.  at 
Westminster.  Immediately  in  front  of  this  mosaic 
was  placed  the  “  Altar  of  St.  Thomas,”  at  the  head  of 
the  shrine ;  and  before  this  the  pilgrims  knelt,  where 
the  long  furrow  in  the  purple  pavement  still  marks  the 
exact  limit  to  which  they  advanced.  Before  them  rose 
the  shrine,  secure  with  its  strong  iron  rails,  of  which 
the  stains  and  perhaps  the  fixings  can  still  be  traced 
in  the  broken  pavement  around.  For  those  who  were 
allowed  to  approach  still  closer,  there  were  iron  gates 

at  Seville,  and  of  St.  Eemigius  at  Eheiras  are  perhaps  the  nearest 
likenesses.  For  the  Shrine  of  Edward  the  Confessor  I  may  refer  to 
my  “  Historical  Memorials  of  Westminster  Abbey,”  chap.  iii.  To  this 
instance  must  now  be  added  the  Shrine  of  St.  Alban,  so  ingeniously 
discovered  and  restored  in  1872. 

1  See  the  grounds  for  this  explanation  in  Note  G.  In  the  Museum 
at  Munich  is  a  white  silk  mitre  of  the  twelfth  century,  embroidered  on 
one  side  with  the  martyrdom  of  Saint  Stephen,  on  the  other  with  that 
of  Saint  Thomas ;  over  Saint  Stephen  are  stars,  over  Saint  Thomas 
a  hand  of  Providence  with  two  crescents. 


becket’s  shrine 


NOTE 


TO  THE  ENGRAVING  OF  THE  SHRINE  OF  BECKET. 

The  accompanying  engraving  is  a  fac-simile  of  a  drawing  of  the 
shrine  in  ink,  on  a  folio  page  of  the  Cotton  MS.,  Tib.  E,  viii.  fol. 
269.  It  has  been  already  engraved  in  Dugdale’s  Monasticon,  i.  10, 
and  partially  in  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  pp.  118,  165,  but  with  several  devi¬ 
ations  from  the  original.  It  is  here  given  exactly  as  it  appears  in  the 
manuscript,  even  to  the  bad  drawing  of  the  end  of  the  shrine,  and  the 
effects  of  the  fire  which  partially  destroyed  the  manuscript  in  1731, 
visible  in  the  mutilated  engravings  of  the  page.  It  will  be  observed, 
on  a  comparison  with  the  appearance  in  Dugdale  and  Nichols,  that  the 
skull  and  the  bones  on  the  lid  of  the  iron  chest  are  not  (as  there  rep¬ 
resented)  raised,  but  lie  flat  on  the  surface ;  and  are  therefore,  in  all 
probability,  not  meant  to  portray  the  actual  relics  (which  were  inside), 
but  only  a  carving  or  painting  of  them  on  the  lid.  The  piece  of  the 
skull  is  also  here  exhibited  in  a  form  much  more  conformable  to  the 
written  account  than  would  be  inferred  from  Dugdale’s  inexact  copy. 

The  burned  inscriptions  may  be  restored  thus,  from  Dugdale’s  Latin 
translation  of  them,  and  from  Stow’s  Annals  (Anno  1538),  whose  de¬ 
scription  of  the  shrine  is  evidently  taken  from  this  manuscript,  before 
it  had  been  mutilated  by  the  fire  of  1731  :  — 

( 1 )  The  title  :  — 

The  form  and  figure  of  the  Shrine  of  Tho :  Bechet  of  Canterbury. 

(2)  A  statement  respecting  the  three  finials  of  the  canopy :  — 

Silver  gilt  60  ounces.  [Silver  gi]/£  80  ounces.  Silver  gilt  60  ounces. 

(3)  A  description  of  the  shrine :  — 

Tem:  II .  8.  All  above  the  stone  work  ivas  first  of  wood ,  jewels  of  gold  set 
with  stone  [covered  with  plates  of  gold],  wrought  upon  with  gold  wier, 
then  again  with  jewells,  gold ,  as  6ro[oches,  images,  angels,  rings]  10  or 
12  together ,  cramped  with  gold  into  the  ground  of  gold,  the  s  [poils  of 
which  filled  two]  chests  such  as  6  or  8  men  could  but  convey  on  out  of 
the  church.  At  [one  side  was  a  stone  with]  an  Angell  of  gold  poynting 
thereunto,  offered  ther  by  a  king  of  France,  [which  King  Henry  put] 
into  a  ring,  and  wear  it  on  his  1  thumb. 

(4)  A  description  of  the  chest  (not  a  table,  as  Mr.  Nichols,  p.  118, 
erroneously  infers,  from  Dugdale’s  Latin  translation  of  the  inscription, 
but  the  identical  iron  chest  deposited  by  Langton  within  the  golden 
shrine)  :  — 

This  chest  of  iron  con  [tained  the]  bones  of  Thomas  Beck[e t,  skull  and] 
all ,  with  the  wounde  [of  his  death]  and  the  pece  cut  [out  of  his  skull  laid 
in  the  same  wound]. 

1  Dugdale.  in  his  Latin  translation  (p.  10),  inserts  here  the  word  rapacious , 
“  rapaci  pollice.” 


THE  SHRINE. 


269 


which  opened.  The  lower  part  of  the  shrine  was  of 
stone,  supported  on  arches ;  and  between  these  arches 
the  sick  and  lame  pilgrims  were  allowed  to  ensconce 
themselves,  rubbing  their  rheumatic  backs  or  diseased 
legs  and  arms  against  the  marble  which  brought  them 
into  the  nearest  contact  with  the  wonder-working  body 
within.  The  shrine,  properly  so  called,  rested  on  these 
arches,  and  was  at  first  invisible.  It  was  concealed  by 
a  wooden  canopy,  probably  painted  outside  with  sacred 
pictures,  suspended  from  the  roof ;  at  a  given  signal 1 
this  canopy  was  drawn  up  by  ropes,  and  the  shrine 
then  appeared  blazing  with  gold  and  jewels ;  the 
wooden  sides  were  plated  with  gold,  and  damasked 
with  gold  wire ;  cramped  together  on  this  gold  ground 
were  innumerable  jewels,  pearls,  sapphires,  balassas, 
diamonds,  rubies,  and  emeralds,  and  also,  “  in  the  midst 
of  the  gold,”  rings,  or  cameos,  of  sculptured  agates, 
carnelians,  and  onyx  stones.2 

As  soon  as  this  magnificent  sight  was  disclosed, 
every  one  dropped  on  his  knees;  and  probably  the 
tinkling  of  the  silver  bells  attached  to  the  canopy 
would  indicate  the  moment  to  all  the  hundreds  of 
pilgrims  in  whatever  part  of  the  cathedral  they  might 
be.3  The  body  of  the  saint  in  the  inner  iron  chest  was 
not  to  be  seen  except  by  mounting  a  ladder,  which 

1  This  is  expressly  stated  with  regard  to  St.  Cuthbert’s  Shrine. 
(Willis’s  Canterbury  Cathedral,  p.  100;  Raine’s  Account  of  Durham 
Cathedral,  pp.  52-55.) 

2  This  account  is  taken  from  Stow’s  Chronicle,  1538,  and  the  Cotton 
MS.  description  of  the  Shrine.  Both  are  given  in  Nichols’s  Erasmus, 
pp.  166,  167.  Also  “A  Relation  of  England  under  Henry  VII.”  by  a 
Venetian  (Camden  Society). 

3  Compare  Raine’s  Durham,  p.  54.  At  St.  Cuthbert’s  Shrine 
were  “  fine  sounding  silver  bells  attached  to  the  ropes,  which  at  the 
drawing  up  of  the  ropes  made  such  a  goodly  sound  that  it  stirred  all 
the  people’s  hearts  in  the  church.” 


270 


THE  REGALE  OF  FRANCE. 


would  be  but  rarely  allowed.  But  whilst  the  votaries 
knelt  around,  the  Prior,  or  some  other  great  officer  of 
the  monastery,  came  forward,  and  with  a  white  wand 
touched  the  several  jewels,  naming  the  giver  of  each, 
and,  for  the  benefit  of  foreigner,  adding  the  French 
name  of  each,  with  a  description  of  its  value  and  mar¬ 
vellous  qualities.  A  complete  list  of  them 1  has  been 
preserved  to  us,  curious,  but  devoid  of  general  interest. 
There  was  one,  however,  which  far  outshone  the  rest, 
and  indeed  was  supposed  to  be  the  finest  in  Europe.2 
It  was  the  great  carbuncle,  ruby,  or  diamond,  said  to 
be  as  large  as  a  hen’s  egg  or  a  thumb-nail,  and  com¬ 
monly  called  “  The  Eegale  of  France..”  The  attention 
of  the  spectators  was  riveted  by  the  figure  of  an  angel 
pointing  to  it.  It  had  been  given  to  the  original  tomb 
in  the  crypt  by  Louis  VII.  of  France,  when  here  on 
his  pilgrimage.  There  were  two  legends  current  about 
it.  One  was  that  the  king  had  refused  it  to  Saint 
Thomas  when  alive.3  The  other  was  told  to  the  pil¬ 
grims  of  the  fifteenth  century.  “The  king,”  so  ran  the 
story,  “  had  come  thither  to  discharge  a  vow  made  in 
battle,  and  knelt  at  the  shrine,  with  the  stone  set  in 
a  ring  on  his  finger.  The  Archbishop,  who  was  pres¬ 
ent,  entreated  him  to  present  it  to  the  saint.  So  costly 
a  gift  was  too  much  for  the  royal  pilgrim,  especially  as 
it  insured  him  good  luck  in  all  his  enterprises.  Still, 

1  The  list  of  jewels  (from  the  Inventory  of  1315)  is  given  in  Nich¬ 
ols’s  Erasmus,  p.  169.  Diceto  says,  “Ne  sit  qui  non  credat,  desit  qui 
scribat.” 

2  The  account  of  the  exhibition  of  the  shrine  is  taken  from  Eras¬ 
mus  (see  Nichols,  p.  55),  Stow,  and  the  Cotton  MS.  See  Nichols,  pp. 
166,  167;  and  the  Bohemian  Travellers,  who  give  the  story  of  the 
Regale  of  France  (see  Note  B),  and  the  Venetian’s  Relation  of 
England  under  Henry  VII. 

3  Andreas  Marcianensis  (Bouquet’s  Collection,  xii.  423). 


THE  REGALE  OF  FRANCE. 


271 


as  a  compensation,  lie  offered  one  hundred  thousand 
florins  for  the  better  adornment  of  the  shrine.  The 
Primate  was  fully  satisfied;  but  scarcely  had  the  re¬ 
fusal  been  uttered,  when  the  stone  leaped  from  the  ring 
and  fastened  itself  to  the  shrine,  as  if  a  goldsmith  had 
fixed  it  there.”  1  The  miracle  of  course  convinced  the 
king,  who  left  the  jewel,  with  the  one  hundred  thou¬ 
sand  florins  as  well ;  and  it  remained  the  wonder  of  the 
church,  —  so  costly  that  it  would  suffice  for  the  ran¬ 
som  of  a  king  of  England,  almost  of  England  itself ;  so 
bright  that  it  was  impossible  to  look  at  it  distinctly, 
and  at  night  burning  like  fire,  but  even  on  a  cloudy 
evening  “  you  saw  it  as  if  it  were  in  your  hand.” 

The  lid  once  more  descended  on  the  golden  ark ;  the 
pilgrims, 

“telling  heartily  their  beads, 

Prayed  to  Saint  Thomas  in  such  wise  as  they  could,”  2 

and  then  withdrew,  down  the  opposite  flight  of  steps 
from  that  which  they  had  ascended.  Those  who  saw 
the  long  files  of  pilgrims  at  Trkves,  at  the  time  of  the 
exhibition  of  the  Holy  Coat,  in  1844,  can  best  form 
a  notion  of  this  part  of  the  scene  at  Canterbury.  There, 
as  at  Canterbury,  the  long  line  of  pilgrims  ascended 
and  descended  the  flights  of  steps  wThich  led  to  the 
space  behind  the  high  altar,  muttering  their  prayers, 
and  dropping  their  offerings  into  the  receptacles 
which  stood  ready  to  receive  them  at  the  foot  of  either 
staircase. 

Where  these  offerings  were  made  at  Canterbury  we 
are  not  told,  but  probably  at  each  of  the  three  great 
places  of  devotion,  —  the  “  Point  of  the  Sword,”  the 
“  Head,”  or  “  Crown,”  and  “  the  Shrine.”  Ordinary  pil¬ 
grims  presented  “silver  brooches  and  rings ;”  kings  and 
1  See  Note  B. 


2  Supplementary  Tale,  168. 


272  THE  WELL  AND  THE  PILGRIMS’  SIGNS. 


princes  gave  jewels  or  money,  magnificent  drapery, 
spices,  tapers,  cups,  and  statues  of  themselves  in  gold 
or  silver.1 

And  now  the  hour  arrived  for  departure.  The  hour 
of  “  the  dinner,”  which  had  been  carefully  prepared  by 
the  host  of  Southwark,  now  approaching, 

“  Thejr  drew  to  dinner-ward  as  it  drew  to  noon.”  2 

But  before  they  finally  left  the  precincts,  one  part  of 
their  task  still  remained  ;  namely,  to  carry  off  memorials 
of  the  visit.  Of  these,  the  most  important  was  fur¬ 
nished  within  the  monastery  itself.  The  story  of  the 
water  mixed  with  the  Martyr’s  blood  3  has  been  already 
mentioned  ;  and  the  small  leaden  bottles,  or  “  ampulles,” 
in  which  this  was  distributed,  were  the  regular  marks 
of  Canterbury  pilgrims.  A  step  deeply  worn  away 
appears  in  the  south  aisle  of  the  Trinity  Chapel.  It 
has  been  suggested  that  this  was  the  spot  where  the 
pilgrims  knelt  to  receive  the  blood.  To  later  genera¬ 
tions  the  wonder  was  increased  by  showing  a  well  in 
the  precincts,  into  which,  as  the  story  ran,  the  dust 
and  blood  from  the  pavement  had  been  thrown  imme- 
diately  after  the  murder,  and  called  forth  an  abundant 
spring  wdrere  before  there  had  been  but  a  scanty  stream ; 
and  this  spring  turned,  it  was  said,  both  at  the  time  and 
since,  four  times  into  blood  and  once  into  milk.  With 
this  water  miracles  were  supposed  to  be  wrought ;  and 
from  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  to  the  close  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  it  was  one  of  the  greatest  marvels 
of  the  place.4  Absurd  as  the  story  was,  it  is  worth 

1  See  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  pp.  108,  160. 

2  Supplementary  Tale,  190.  3  See  “Murder  of  Becket,”  p.  114. 

4  The  story  of  the  well  is  given  in  the  “Polistoire”  of  the  time  of 

Edward  II. ;  by  the  Bohemian  Travellers  in  the  time  of  Edward  IV. ; 
and  by  William  Thomas,  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  (See  Notes  A, 


.  THE  PILGRIMS’  SIGNS. 


273 


recording  as  being  one  of  which  the  comparatively  late 
origin  can  be  traced  by  us,  though  wholly  unsuspected 
by  the  pilgrims,  and  perhaps  by  the  monks  who  profited 
by  its  wonders ;  and  thus  an  instance,  even  to  the  most 
credulous,  of  the  manner  in  which  such  stories  grad¬ 
ually  grow  up  round  consecrated  spots.  But  besides 
these  leaden  bottles,  the  pilgrims  usually  procured 
more  common  reminiscences  on  their  way  back  to  the 
inn.  Mercery  Lane,  the  narrow  street  which  leads 
from  the  cathedral  to  the  “  Chequers,”  in  all  proba¬ 
bility  takes  its  name  from  its  having  been  the  chief 
resort  of  the  shops  and  stalls  where  objects  of  orna¬ 
ment  or  devotion  were  clamorously  offered  for  sale  to 
the  hundreds  who  flocked  by,  eager  to  carry  away  some 
memorial  of  their  visit  to  Canterbury.  At  that  time 
the  street  was  lined  1  on  each  side  with  arcades,  like 
the  “  Bows  ”  at  Chester,  underneath  which  the  pilgrims 
could  walk,  and  turn  into  the  stalls  on  either  side. 
Such  a  collection  of  booths,  such  a  clamor  of  vend¬ 
ers,  is  the  first  sight  and  sound  that  meets  every 
traveller  who  visits  Loreto  or  Einsiedlen.  The  ob¬ 
jects,  as  in  these  modern,  so  in  those  ancient  resorts  of 
pilgrimage,  w~ere  doubtless  mostly  of  that  flimsy  and 
trivial  character  so  expressively  designated  by  a  word 

B,  and  C.)  It  is  unknown  to  Gervase  and  the  earlier  chroniclers. 
The  well  was  probably  that  which  is  in  the  old  plans  of  the  monastery 
marked  Puteus,  immediately  on  the  north  side  of  the  choir,  of  which 
all  traces  have  now  disappeared.  Two  remarkable  instances  of  mi¬ 
raculous  springs  may  be  mentioned,  of  which,  as  in  this  case,  the  later 
story  can  be  traced.  One  is  that  in  the  Mamertine  Prison,  said  to  have 
been  called  forth  for  the  baptism  of  St.  Peter’s  jailer,  though  really 
existing  there  in  the  days  of  the  Roman  Republic.  The  other  is  the 
Zemzem  at  Mecca,  commonly  believed  to  have  been  the  well  of  Ish- 
mael,  although  it  is  known  to  have  been  really  dug  by  Abd-ul-Motallib. 
(Sprenger’s  Mahomet,  pp.  31,  54.) 

1  Hasted,  iv.  428. 


18 


274 


THE  PILGRIMS’  SIGNS. 


derived  from  a  place  of  this  very  kind,  tawdry,  —  that 
is,  like  the  lace  or  chains  of  silk  called  “Etheldred’s 
Chains,”1  sold  at  the  fair  of  Saint  Awdrey ,2  or  Ethel- 
dreda,  the  patron  saint  of  the  Isle  of  Ely.  But  what 
they  chiefly  looked  for  were  “  signs,”  to  indicate  where 
they  had  been. 

“  As  manner  and  custom  is,  signs  there  they  bought, 

Eor  men  of  contre  to  know  whom  they  had  sought, 

Each  man  set  his  silver  in  such  thing  as  they  liked.”  3 

These  signs  they  fastened  on  their  caps  or  hats,  or 
hung  from  their  necks,  and  thus  were  henceforth  dis¬ 
tinguished.  As  the  pilgrims  from  Compostela  brought 
home  the  scallop-shells,  which  still  lie  on  the  seashores 
of  Gallicia ;  as  the  “  palmers  ”  from  Palestine  brought 
the  palm-branches  still  given  at  the  Easter  pilgrimage, 
in  the  tin  cases  which,  slung  behind  the  mules  or 
horses,  glitter  in  long  succession  through  the  caval¬ 
cade  as  it  returns  from  Jerusalem  to  Jaffa ;  as  the 
roamers  from  Borne  brought  models  of  Saint  Peter’s  keys, 
or  a  “  vernicle,”  that  is,  a  pattern  of  Veronica’s  handker¬ 
chief,  sewed  on  their  caps,  —  so  the  Canterbury  pilgrim 
had  his  hat  thick  set  with  a  “  hundred  ampulles,”  or 
with  leaden  brooches  representing  the  mitred  head  of 
the  saint,  with  the  inscription  Caput  Tliomce .4  Many 

1  Porter’s  Flowers  of  the  Saints :  Harpsfield,  vii.  24,  quoted  by 
Fuller,  book  ii  §  110. 

2  So  Tooley  for  Saint  Olave,  Trowel  for  Saint  Rule,  Tanton  for  Saint 
Antony,  Theunen  for  Saint  Eunen,  or  Adamnan  (Reeves’s  Adamnan, 
256),  Tith  for  Saint  Eth,  Stoosey  for  Saint  Osyth,  Ickley  for  Saint  Echel, 
Torrey  for  Saint  Oragh,  Toll  for  Aldate.  See  Caley’s  Life,  i  272. 

3  Supplementary  Tale,  194. 

4  See  Piers  Ploughman  and  Giraldus,  as  quoted  by  Nichols,  p.  70, 
who  overlooks  the  fact  that  the  “  ampullae  ”  were  Canterbury  signs. 
See  C.  R.  Smith’s  Collect.  Ant.,  i.  81,  ii  43;  Journal  of  the  Archas- 
ological  Association,  i.  200,  Some  of  the  .brooches  may  be  seen  in 
the  British  Museum. 


THE  DINNER.  —  THE  TOWN. 


275 


of  these  are  said  to  have  been  found  in  the  beds  of  the 
Stour  and  the  Thames,  dropped  as  the  vast  concourse 
departed  from  Canterbury  or  reached  London. 

At  last,  after  all  these  sights  and  purchases,  came 
the  dinner,  “  at  noon.” 

“  Every  man  in  his  degree  took  his  seat, 

As  they  were  wont  to  do  at  supper  and  at  meat.” 1 

The  remains  of  the  vast  cellars  under  the  Chequers  Inn 
still  bear  witness  to  the  amount  of  good  cheer  which 
could  be  provided. 

After  the  repast  they  all  dispersed  to  see  the  town. 

“All  that  had  their  changes  with  them 
They  made  them  fresh  and  gay ;  ” 

and 

“  They  sorted  them  together. 

As  they  were  more  used  travelling  by  the  way.” 

The  knight 

“  With  his  menee  went  to  see  the  wall 
And  the  wards  of  the  town,  as  to  a  knight  befall.”  — 

the  walls  of  Simon  of  Sudbury,  which  still  in  great  part 
exist  round  the  city,  — 

“  Devising  attentively  the  strength  all  about, 

And  pointed  to  his  son  both  the  perill  and  the  dout, 

For  shot  of  arblast  and  of  how,  and  eke  for  shot  of  gun, 

Unto  the  wards  of  the  town,  and  how  it  might  be  won.”2 

The  monk  of  the  party  took  his  clerical  friends  to 
see  an  acquaintance 

“  that  all  these  years  three, 

Hath  prayed  him  by  his  letters  that  I  would  him  see.”  3 

The  wife  of  Bath  induced  the  Prioress  to  walk  into 
the  garden,  or  “  herbary,” 

1  Supplementary  Tale,  230-240.  2  Ibid.,  194. 

3  Ibid.,  270. 


276 


THE  RETURN. 


“  to  see  the  herbs  grow, 

And  all  the  alleys  fair  and  pavid  and  raylid,  and  y-makid, 

The  savige  and  the  ysope  y-fretted  and  y-stakid, 

And  other  beddis  by  and  by  fresh  y-dight, 

For  comers  to  the  host,  right  a  sportful  sight.”  1 

Such  were  the  ordinary  amusements  of  the  better 
class  of  Canterbury  pilgrims.  The  rest  are  described  as 
employing  themselves  in  a  less  creditable  manner. 

On  the  morrow  they  all  start  once  again  for  London, 
and  the  stories  on  the  road  are  resumed.  At  Dartford, 
both  on  going  and  returning,  they  laid  in  a  stock  of 
pilgrims’  signs.2  The  foreign  pilgrims  sleep  at  Roches¬ 
ter  ;  and  it  is  curious  to  note  that  the  recollections  of 
Canterbury  have  so  strong  a  hold  on  their  minds  that 
the  first  object  which  they  visit  on  their  arrival  in  Lon¬ 
don  is  the  Chapel  of  St.  Thomas,3 — the  old  chapel  built 
over  the  place  of  his  birth,  and  the  graves  of  his  parents, 
Gilbert  and  Matilda. 

Besides  the  mass  of  ordinary  pilgrims,  there  were 
those  who  came  from  the  very  highest  ranks  of  life. 
Probably  there  was  no  king,  from  the  second  to  the 
eighth  Henry,  who  did  not  at  some  time  of  his  life 
think  it  a  matter  of  duty  or  of  policy  to  visit  the 
Shrine  of  St.  Thomas.  Before  the  period  of  the  Trans¬ 
lation,  we  have  already  seen  the  visits  of  Louis  VII. 
of  France,  and  Richard  and  John  of  England.  After¬ 
wards  we  have  express  records  of  Isabella,4  Queen  of 
Edward  II.,  of  Edward  I.,  and  of  John,  the  captive 

1  Supplementary  Tale,  290.  This  last  expression  seems  to  imply  that 
the  herbary  was  in  the  garden  of  the  inn.  A  tradition  of  such  a  garden 
still  exists  in  the  tenements  on  the  northwest  side  of  Mercery  Lane. 

2  Dunkin’s  History  of  Dartford.  3  See  Note  B. 

4  Archaeologia,  xxxvi.  461.  She  was  four  days  on  the  road,  and 
made  offerings  at  the  tomb,  the  head,  and  the  sword.  Mary,  daughter 
of  Edward  I.,  accompanied  her.  (Green’s  Princesses  of  England, 
vol.  ii.) 


EDWARD  I.  —  JOHN  OF  FRANCE. 


277 


king  of  France.  Edward  I.,  in  the  close  of  his  reign 
(1299),  offered  to  the  shrine  no  less  a  gift  than  the 
golden  crown  of  Scotland ; 1  and  in  the  same  year  he 
celebrated,  in  the  Transept  of  the  Martyrdom,  his  mar¬ 
riage  with  his  second  wife,  Margaret 2  John  of  France 
was  at  Canterbury  perhaps  on  his  arrival,  certainly  on 
his  return  from  his  captivity.3  The  last  acts  of  his 
exile  were  to  drop  an  alms  of  ten  crowns  into  the 
hands  of  the  nuns  of  Harbledown,  to  offer  ten  nobles 
at  the  three  sacred  places  of  the  cathedral,  and  to  carry 
off,  as  a  reminiscence  from  the  Mercery  stalls,  a  knife 
for  the  Count  of  Auxerre.  A  Sunday’s  ride  brought 
him  to  Dover;  and  thence,  after  a  dinner  with  the 
Black  Prince  in  Dover  Castle,  he  once  more  embarked 
for  his  native  country.  Henry  V.,  on  his  return  from 
Affincourt,  visited  both  the  cathedral  and  St.  Auoms- 
tine’s,  and  “  offered  at  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas.”  Em¬ 
manuel,  the  Emperor  of  the  East,  paid  his  visit  to 
Canterbury  in  1400 ;  Sigismund,  the  Emperor  of  the 
West,  in  1417.  Distinguished  members  of  the  great 
Scottish  families  also  came,  from  far  over  the  Border  ; 
and  special  licenses  and  safe-conducts  were  granted  to 
the  Bruces,  and  to  the  Abbot  of  Melrose,4  to  enable 
them  to  perform  their  journeys  securely  through  those 
troubled  times.  The  great  barons  of  the  Cinque  Ports, 
too,  came  here  after  every  coronation,  to  present  the 
canopies  of  silk  and  gold  which  they  held,  and  still 
hold,  on  such  occasions  over  our  kings  and  queens,  and 
which  they  receive  as  their  perquisites.5 

We  have  seen  the  rise  of  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas  ; 

1  See  Hasted,  iv.  514.  It  was  the  crown  given  to  Edward  by  John 
Baliol,  and  carried  off  by  Baliol  on  his  escape.  When  he  was  recap- 
tured  at  Dover,  the  crown  was  sent  to  Canterbury. 

2  See  Note  A.  3  See  Note  E. 

4  Hasted,  iv.  514.  6  Ibid. 


278 


REACTION  AGAINST  PILGRIMAGE. 


we  now  come  to  its  decline.  From  the  very  begin¬ 
ning  of  its  glory,  there  had  been  contained  within  it 
the  seeds  of  its  own  destruction.  Whatever  there  may 
have  been  of  courage  or  nobleness  in  Becket’s  life  and 
death,  no  impartial  person  can  now  doubt  that  the  ages 
which  followed  regarded  his  character  and  work  with 
a  reverence  exaggerated  beyond  all  reasonable  bounds. 
And  whatever  feelings  of  true  religion  were  interwoven 
with  the  devotion  of  those  who  came  over  land  and  sea 
to  worship  at  his  shrine,  it  is  impossible  to  overlook  the 
groundless  superstition  with  which  it  was  inseparably 
mingled,  or  the  evil  results,  social  and  moral,  to  which 
the  pilgrimage  gave  birth.  Even  in  the  first  begin¬ 
nings  of  this  localization  of  religion,  there  were  purer 
and  loftier  spirits  (such  as  Thomas  a  Kempis  1  in  Ger¬ 
many)  who  doubted  its  efficacy  ;  and  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  when  it  reached  its  height,  a  strong  reaction 
against  it  had  already  begun  in  the  popular  feeling  of 
Englishmen.  Chaucer’s  narrative  leads  us  to  infer,  and 
the  complaints  of  contemporary  writers,  like  Piers 
Ploughman  and  William  Thorpe,  prove  beyond  doubt, 
that  the  levity,  the  idleness,  the  dissoluteness,2  pro¬ 
duced  by  these  promiscuous  pilgrimages,  provoked  that 
sense  of  just  indignation  which  was  one  of  the  most  ani¬ 
mating  motives  of  the  Lollards,  and  was  one  of  the  first 
causes  which  directly  prepared  the  way  for  the  Refor¬ 
mation.  Even  the  treasures  of  the  cathedral  and  of 
St.  Augustine  were  not  deemed  quite  secure ;  and  the 
Lord  Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  in  the  reign  of  Rich¬ 
ard  II.,  advised  that  they  should  be  moved  “for  more 
safety  ”  to  Dover  Castle,3 — just  as,  in  the  wars  of  the 

1  “  There  are  few  whom  sickness  really  amends,  as  there  are  few 
whom  pilgrimage  really  sanctifies”  —  Imitatio  Christi,  i.  23,  4. 

2  See  the  very  instructive  quotations  in  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  pp. 

182-189.  3  Lambard’s  Kent,  p.  293. 


SIMON  OF  SUDBURY. 


1370.] 


279 


Palatinate,  the  Holy  Coat  of  Treves  was  for  many  years 
shut  up  in  the  fortress  of  Ehrenbreitstein. 

Nor  was  it  only  persons  of  humble  life  and  narrow 
minds  that  perceived  these  evils  and  protested  against 
them.  In  the  year  of  the  fourth  Jubilee,  1370,  the 
pilgrims  were  crowding  as  usual  along  the  great  Lon¬ 
don  road  to  Canterbury,  when  they  were  overtaken  by 
Simon  of  Sudbury,  at  that  time  Bishop  of  London,  but 
afterwards  Primate,  and  well  known  for  his  munificent 
donations  to  the  walls  and  towers  of  the  town  of  Can¬ 
terbury.  He  was  a  bold  and  vigorous  prelate ;  his 
spirit  was  stirred  within  him  at  the  sight  of  what  he 
deemed  a  mischievous  superstition,  and  he  openly  told 
them  that  the  plenary  indulgence  which  they  hoped 
to  gain  by  their  visit  to  the  holy  city  would  be  of  no 
avail  to  them.  Such  a  doctrine  from  such  an  author¬ 
ity  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  in  the  midst  of  the  vast 
multitude.  Many  were  struck  dumb ;  others  lifted  up 
their  voices  and  cursed  him  to  his  face,  with  the  char¬ 
acteristic  prayer  that  he  might  meet  with  a  shameful 
death.  One  especially,  a  Kentish  gentleman,  —  by 
name,  Thomas  of  Aldon,  —  rode  straight  up  to  him,  in 
towering  indignation,  and  said :  “  My  Lord  Bishop,  for 
this  act  of  yours,  stirring  the  people  to  sedition  against 
Saint  Thomas,  I  stake  the  salvation  of  my  soul  that 
you  will  close  your  life  by  a  most  terrible  death,”  to 
which  the  vast  concourse  answered,  “  Amen,  Amen.” 
The  curse,  it  was  believed,  prevailed.  The  “  vox  pop- 
uli”  so  the  chronicler  expressly  asserts,  turned  out  to 
be  the  “ vox  Dei ”  “From  the  beginning  of  the  world 
it  never  has  been  heard  that  any  one  ever  injured  the 
Cathedral  of  Canterbury,  and  was  not  punished  by  the 
Lord.” 1  Eleven  years  from  that  time,  the  populace  of 
1  Birchington’s  Annals  ;  Wharton’s  Anglia  Sacra,  ii.  51. 


*280 


ERASMUS  AND  COLET. 


[1512. 


London  not  unnaturally  imagined  that  the  rights  of 
Saint  Thomas  were  avenged,  when  they  saw  the  un¬ 
fortunate  Primate  dragged  out  of  the  Tower  and  be¬ 
headed  by  the  Kentish  rebels  under  Wat  Tyler.  His 
head  was  taken  to  his  native  place,  Sudbury,  where  it 
is  still  preserved.  His  body  was  buried  in  the  tomb, 
still  to  be  seen  on  the  south  side  of  the  choir  of  the 
cathedral,  where  not  many  years  ago,  when  it  was 
accidentally  opened,  the  body  was  seen  within,  wrapped 
in  cerecloth,  the  vacant  space  of  the  head  occupied  by 
a  leaden  ball. 

But  Sudbury  was  right,  after  all ;  and  the  end  was 
not  far  off.  Wycliffe  had  already  lifted  up  his  voice, 
and  the  memory  of  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury  was 
one  of  the  ancient  forms  which  began  to  totter  before 
him.  It  was  said,  whether  truly  or  not,  that  in  the 
last  week  of  his  life  —  on  the  29th  of  October,  1384  — 
he  was  going  to  preach  at  Lutterworth  against  the 
great  saint,  whose  martyrdom  was  on  that  day  comr 
memorated.  A  stroke  of  paralysis  interrupted,  as  it 
was  believed,  the  daring  words ;  but  both  to  those  who 
condemned  and  those  who  applauded  his  supposed 
intention,  it  must  have  appeared  ominous  of  the  fut¬ 
ure.  Another  century  elapsed ;  and  now,  between  the 
years  1511  and  1513,1  we  find  within  the  precincts  of 
the  cathedral  two  illustrious  strangers,  for  whose  com- 
ing,  in  their  different  ways,  both  Chaucer  and  Wycliffe 
had  prepared  the  way.  The  one  was  John  Colet,2  first 
scholar  of  his  time  in  England,  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s 
Cathedral,  and  founder  of  St.  Paul’s  Grammar  School. 
The  other  was  the  foreigner  Erasmus,  the  patriarch  of 

1  The  date  is  fixed  by  the  events  of  Erasmus’s  life  (see  Nichols,  p.  viii). 

2  For  the  proof  that  “  Pallus  ”  in  Erasmus’s  Colloquy  was  Colet,  see 
Nichols,  pp.  126,  127. 


** 


1512.] 


ERASMUS  AND  COLET. 


281 


the  learning  and  scholarship  of  Europe,  then  just  re¬ 
viving  from  the  slumber  of  a  thousand  years.  They 
had  made  the  journey  from  London  together ;  they  had 
descended  the  well-known  hill,  and  gazed  with  admi¬ 
ration  on  the  well-known  view.  Long  afterwards,  in 
the  mind  of  Erasmus,  lived  the  recollection  of  “  the 
majesty  with  which  the  church  rises  into  the  sky,  so 
as  to  strike  awe  even  at  a  distant  approach ;  the  vast 
towers,1  saluting  from  far  the  advancing  traveller ;  the 
sound  of  the  bells,  sounding  far  and  wide  through  the 
surrounding  country.”  They  were  led  the  usual  round 
of  the  sights  of  pilgrims.  They  speculated  on  the 
figures  of  the  murderers  over  the  south  porch;  they 
entered  the  nave,  then,  as  now,  open  to  all  comers,  and 
were  struck  by  its  “spacious  majesty,”  then  compara¬ 
tively  new  from  the  works  of  Prior  Chillenden.  The 
curious  eye  of  Erasmus  passed  heedlessly  over  the 
shrine2  of  Archbishop  Wittlesey,  but  fixed  on  the  books 
fastened  to  the  columns,  and  noted,  with  his  caustic 
humor,  that  amongst  them  was  a  copy  of  the  apocryphal 
Gospel  of  Nicodemus.  They  were  taken  to  the  Chapel 
of  the  Martyrdom,  and  reverently  kissed  the  rusty 
sword ;  and  then,  in  long  succession,  as  already  de¬ 
scribed,  were  exhibited  to  them  the  wonders  of  the 
crypt,  the  choir,  the  sacristy,  and  the  shrine.  Their 
acquaintance  with  Warham,  the  gentle  and  learned 
Primate,  secured  their  admission  even  to  the  less  ac¬ 
cessible  regions  of  the  crypt  and  sacristy.  The  Prior 
who  received  them  at  the  shrine  was  Golds  tone,  —  the 
last  great  benefactor  to  the  cathedral,  who  had  just 
built  the  Christ  Church  gate  and  the  central  tower.3 

1  He  says  “  two,”  probably  not  seeing  the  low  northwest  Norman 
tower  now  destroyed. 

2  “  Sepulcrum  nescio  cujus.”  8  Hasted,  iv.  556. 


282 


ERASMUS  AND  COLET. 


[1512. 


Erasmus  saw  enough  to  find  out  not  only  that  he  was 
a  pious  and  sensible  man,  hut  that  he  was  well  ac¬ 
quainted  with  the  philosophy  —  now  trembling  to  its 
ruin  —  of  Duns  Scotus  and  the  schoolmen.  Even  if 
no  record  were  left,  it  would  have  been  impossible  not 
to  inquire  and  to  imagine  with  deep  interest  what  im¬ 
pression  was  produced  by  these  various  objects,  at  this 
critical  moment  of  their  history,  on  two  such  men  as 
Colet  and  Erasmus.  We  are  not  left  to  conjecture. 
Every  line  of  the  narrative,  dry  and  cautious  as  it  is, 
marks  the  feelings  awakened  in  their  hearts.  The 
beauty  of  the  edifice,  as  we  have  seen,  touched  them 
deeply.  But  when  they  come  to  the  details  of  the 
sight,  two  trains  of  thought  are  let  loose  which  carry 
away  every  other  consideration.  First,  the  vast  display 
of  wealth,  which  in  former  ages  would  have  seemed 
the  natural  accompaniment  of  so  sacred  a  spot,  awakens 
in  the  mind  of  Erasmus  only  a  sense  of  incongruity 
and  disproportion.  He  dwells  with  pleasure  on  the 
“  wooden  altar  ”  of  the  “  martyrdom,”  as  “  a  monument 
of  antiquity,  rebuking  the  luxury  of  this  age ;  ”  he 
gladly  kisses  the  “rough  cloak”  and  “napkin”  of 
Becket,  as  “memorials  of  the  simplicity  of  ancient 
times.”  But  the  splendid  stores  of  the  treasury,  “  be¬ 
fore  which  Midas  or  Croesus  would  have  seemed  beg¬ 
gars,”  rouse  only  the  regret  —  the  sacrilegious  regret, 
as  he  confesses,  for  which  he  begged  pardon  of  the 
saint  before  he  left  the  church  —  that  none  of  these 
gifts  adorned  his  own  homely  mansion.  His  friend 
took,  as  was  his  wont,  a  more  serious  view  of  the  mat¬ 
ter  ;  and  as  they  were  standing  before  the  gilded  head 
in  Becket’s  Crown,  broke  in  with  the  unseasonable  sug¬ 
gestion  that  if  Saint  Thomas  had  been  devoted  to  the 
poor  in  his  lifetime,  and  was  now  unchanged,  unless 


1512.] 


ERASMUS  AND  COLET. 


283 


for  the  better,  he  would  far  rather  prefer  that  some 
portion  of  this  vast  treasure  should  be  expended  on 
the  same  objects  now.  The  verger  knit  his  brows, 
scowled,  pouted,  and,  but  for  Warham’s  letter  of  intro¬ 
duction,  would  have  turned  them  out  of  the  church. 
Erasmus,  as  usual,  took  the  milder  side  :  hinted  that  it 
was  but  his  friend’s  playful  way,  and  dropped  a  few 
coins  into  the  verger’s  hand  for  the  support  of  the  edi¬ 
fice.  But  he  was  not  the  less  convinced  of  the  sub¬ 
stantial  truth  of  the  good  Dean’s  complaint.  On  the 
next  point  there  was  more  difference  between  them. 
The  natural  timidity  of  Erasmus  led  him  to  shrink 
from  an  open  attack  on  so  widespread  a  feeling  as 
the  worship  of  relics.  Colet  had  no  such  scruple ;  and 
the  objects  of  reverence  which  had  held  enthralled  the 
powerful  minds  of  Henry  Plantagenet  and  of  Stephen 
Langton  excited  in  the  devout  and  earnest  mind  of  the 
theologian  of  the  sixteenth  century  sentiments  only  of 
disgust  and  contempt.  When  the  long  array  of  hones 
and  skulls  was  produced,  he  took  no  pains  to  disguise 
his  impatience ;  he  refused  the  accustomed  kiss  due  to 
the  arm  of  Saint  George;  and  when  the  kind  Prior 
offered  one  of  the  filthy  rags  torn  from  one  of  the 
saint’s  robes,  as  a  choice  present,  he  held  it  up  between 
his  fingers!  and  laid  it  down  with  a  whistle  of  con¬ 
tempt,  which  distracted  Erasmus  between  shame  for 
his  companion’s  bad  manners  and  a  fear  for  the  conse¬ 
quences.  But  the  Prior  pretended  not  to  see ;  perhaps 
such  expressions  were  now  not  so  rare  as  in  the  days 
of  Sudbury.  At  any  rate,  the  courtesy  of  his  high  office 
prevailed ;  and  with  a  parting  cup  of  wine,  he  bade 
them  farewell. 

There  was  to  be  yet  one  more  trial  of  Erasmus’s 
patience.  They  were  to  return  to  London.  Two  miles 


284 


SCENE  AT  HARBLEDOWN. 


[1512. 


from  Canterbury,  they  found  themselves  in  a  steep 
descent  through  a  steep  and  narrow  lane,  with  high 
banks  on  either  side ;  on  the  left  rose  an  ancient  alms¬ 
house.  We  recognize  at  once,  without  a  word,  the  old 
familiar  lazar-house  of  Harbledown,  so  often  mentioned 
in  these  pages,  so  picturesque  even  now  in  its  decay, 
and  in  spite  of  the  modern  alterations,  which  have 
swept  away  almost  all  but  the  ivy-clad  chapel  of  Lan- 
franc ;  the  road,  still  steep,  though  probably  wider  than 
at  that  time ;  the  rude  steps  leading  from  the  doorway, 
under  the  shade  of  two  venerable  yews,  - —  one  a  lifeless 
trunk,  the  other  still  stretching  its  dark  branches  over 
the  porch.  Down  those  steps  came,  according  to  his 
wont,  an  aged  almsman ;  and  as  the  two  horsemen 
approached,  he  -  threw  his  accustomed  shower  of  holy 
water,  and  then  pressed  forward,  holding  the  upper 
leather  of  a  shoe,  bound  in  a  brass  rim,  with  a  crystal 
set  in  the  centre.  Colet  was  the  left-hand  horseman 
thus  confronted.  He  bore  the  shower  of  holy  water 
with  tolerable  equanimity;  but  when  the  shoe  was 
offered  for  him  to  kiss,  he  sharply  asked  the  old  man 
what  he  wanted.  “The  shoe  of  Saint  Thomas,”  was 
the  answer.  Colet’s  anger  broke  all  bounds.  Turning 
to  his  companion,  “  What !  ”  he  said ;  “  do  these  asses 
expect  us  to  kiss  the  shoes  of  all  good  men  that  have 
ever  lived  ?  Why,  they  might  as  well  bring  us  their 
spittle  or  their  dung  to  be  kissed !  ”  The  kind  heart  of 
Erasmus  was  moved  for  the  old  almsman ;  he  dropped 
into  his  hand  a  small  coin,  and  the  two  travellers  pur¬ 
sued  their  journey  to  the  metropolis.  Three  hundred 
years  have  passed,  but  the  natural  features  of  the  scene 
remain  almost  unchanged ;  even  its  minuter  memorials 
are  not  wanting.  In  the  old  chest  of  the  almshouse 
still  remain  two  relics,  which  no  reader  of  this  story 


1512.] 


SCENE  AT  HARBLEDOWN. 


285 


can  see  without  interest.  The  one  is  an  ancient  maple 
bowl,  bound  with  a  brazen  rim,  which  contains  a  piece 
of  rock  crystal,  so  exactly  reminding  us  of  that  which 
Erasmus  describes  in  the  leather  of  Saint  Thomas’s 
shoe,  as  to  suggest  the  conjecture  that  when  the  shoe 
was  lost  the  crystal  was  thus  preserved.  The  other  is 
a  rude  box,  with  a  chain  to  be  held  by  the  hand,  and 
a  slit  for  money  in  the  lid,  at  least  as  old  as  the  six¬ 
teenth  century.  In  that  box,  we  can  hardly  doubt,  the 
coin  of  Erasmus  was  deposited. 

Trivial  as  these  reminiscences  may  be,  they  are  not 
without  importance,  when  they  bring  before  us  an  inci¬ 
dent  so  deeply  illustrative  of  the  characters  and  for¬ 
tunes  of  the  two  pilgrims  who  thus  passed  onwards, 
soon  to  part  and  meet  no  more,  but  not  soon  to  lose 
their  influence  on  the  world  in  which  they  lived :  Colet, 
burning  with  his  honest  English  indignation  against  a 
system  of  which  the  overthrow,  though  not  before  his 
eyes  were  closed  in  death,  was  near  at  hand ;  Erasmus, 
sharing  his  views,  yet  naturally  chafing  against  the 
vehemence  of  Colet,  as  he  afterwards  chafed  against 
the  mightier  vehemence  of  Luther, —  shrinking  from  the 
shock  to  the  feelings  of  the  old  almsman  of  Harble- 
down,  as  he  afterwards  shrank  from  any  violent  col¬ 
lision  with  the  ancient  churches  of  Christendom.  In 
the  meeting  of  that  old  man  with  the  two  strangers  in 
the  lane  at  Harbledown,  how  completely  do  we  read, 
in  miniature,  the  whole  history  of  the  coming  revolution 
of  Europe  ! 

Still,  however,  with  that  strange  unconsciousness  of 
coming  events  which  often  precedes  the  overthrow  of 
the  greatest  of  institutions,  the  tide  of  pilgrimage  and 
the  pomp  of  the  cathedral  continued  apparently  un¬ 
abated  almost  to  the  very  moment  of  the  final  crash. 


286  VISIT  OF  HENRY  VIII.  AND  CHARLES  V.  1512.] 

Almost  at  the  very  time  of  Erasmus’s  visit,  the  offer¬ 
ings  at  the  shrine  still  averaged  between  £800  or 
£1000  —  that  is,  in  our  money,  at  least  £4000  —  a  year.1 
Henry  VII.  had  in  his  will  left  a  kneeling  likeness  of 
himself,  in  silver  gilt,  to  be  “  set  before  Saint  Thomas 
of  Canterbury,  and  as  nigh  to  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas 
as  may  well  be.”  Prior  Goldstone,  who  had  shown 
Erasmus  and  Colet  the  wonders  of  the  shrine,  had 
erected  its  noble  central  tower,  and  the  stately  entrance 
to  the  precincts.  The  completion  of  Becket’s  Crown 
was  in  contemplation.  A  faint  murmur  from  a  solitary 
heretic  against  the  character  of  Becket  was,  even  as 
late  as  1532,  enumerated  amongst  the  crimes  which 
brought  James  Bainham  to  the  stake.2  Great  anxiety 
was  still  expressed  for  the  usual  privileges  and  indul¬ 
gences,  on  the  last  Jubilee  in  1520 ;  it  was  still  pleaded 
at  Rome  that  since  the  death  of  Saint  Peter  there  was 
never  a  man  that  did  more  for  the  liberties  of  the 
church  than  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury.3  Henry 
VIII.,  in  that  same  year,  had  received  the  Emperor 
Charles  Y.  at  Canterbury,  immediately  before  the  meet¬ 
ing  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold.  They  rode  together  from 
Dover,  on  the  morning  of  Whitsunday,  and  entered  the 
city  through  St.  George’s  Gate.  Under  the  same  can¬ 
opy  were  seen  both  the  youthful  sovereigns.  Cardinal 
Wolsey  was  directly  in  front;  on  the  right  and  left 
were  the  proud  nobles  of  Spain  and  England;  the 
streets  were  lined  with  clergy,  all  in  full  ecclesiastical 

1  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  p.  110,  quotes  Cardinal  Morton’s  Appeal. 
There  is  a  similar  passage  often  quoted  from  Somner’s  Canterbury, 
p.  125. 

2  “  He  affirmed  Archbishop  Becket  was  a  murderer,  and  if  he  did 
not  repent  his  murder,  he  was  rather  a  devil  in  hell  than  a  saint  in 
heaven.”  —  Collier,  part  ii.  book  i. 

3  Appendix  to  Battely’s  Canterbury,  no.  6,  xxi. 


1520.] 


THE  REFORMATION. 


287 


costume.  They  lighted  off  their  horses  at  the  west 
door  of  the  cathedral.  Warham  was  there  to  receive 
them;  together  they  said  their  devotions,  —  doubtless 
before  the  shrine.1  So  magnificent  a  meeting  had 
probably  never  been  assembled  there,  nor  such  an  en¬ 
tertainment  given,  as  Warham  afterwards  furnished  at 
his  palace,  since  the  days  of  Langton.  We  would  fain 
ask  what  the  Emperor,  fresh  from  Luther,  thought  of 
this,  —  the  limit  of  his  tour  in  England  ;  or  how  Henry 
did  the  honors  of  the  cathedral,  of  which,  but  for  his 
elder  brother’s  death,  he  was  destined  to  have  been  the 
Primate.  But  the  chronicles  tell  us  only  of  the  out¬ 
ward  show;  regardless  of  the  inevitable  doom  which, 
year  by  year,  was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer. 

Events  moved  on.  The  queen,  who  had  greeted2  her 
imperial  nephew  with  such  warmth  at  Canterbury,  was 
now  divorced.  In  1534  the  royal  supremacy,  and  sep¬ 
aration  from  the  See  of  Borne,  was  formally  declared. 
The  visitation  of  the  monasteries  began  in  1535.  The 
lesser  monasteries  were  suppressed  in  1536.  For  a 
short  space  the  greater  monasteries  with  their  gorgeous 
shrines  and  rituals  still  remained  erect.  In  the  close 
of  1536  was  struck  the  first  remote  blow  at  the  wor¬ 
ship  of  Saint  Thomas.  Boyal  injunctions  were  issued, 
abrogating  all  superfluous  holidays  which  fell  in  term- 
time  or  in  the  time  of  harvest : 3  the  Festival  of  the 
Martyrdom  on  the  29th  of  December  escaped ;  but  the 
far  greater  Festival  of  the  Translation  of  the  Belies, 
falling  as  it  did  in  the  season  of  harvest,  which  ex¬ 
tended  from  the  1st  of  July  to  the  29th  of  December, 

1  Battely;  Somner,  part  ii.  App.  no.  x. ;  Holinshed,  1520. 

2  Holinshed,  1520. 

3  The  prohibition  included  especially  the  festivals  of  Saint  Thomas 
(July  6),  Saint  Lawrence  (August  10),  and  the  Holy  Cross  (September 
14).  (Annals  of  an  Augustine  Monk,  Harleian  MSS.,  419,  fol.  122.) 


288 


CRANMER’S  BANQUET. 


[1537. 


was  thus  swept  away.  The  vast  concourse  of  pilgrims 
or  idlers  from  the  humble  classes,  who  had  hitherto 
crowded  the  Canterbury  roads,  were  now  for  the  first 
time  detained  in  their  usual  occupations ;  those  from 
the  higher  classes  were  still  free  to  go.  But  one  signi¬ 
ficant  circumstance  showed  what  was  to  be  expected 
from  them. 

Ever  since  the  Festival  of  the  Translation  had  been 
established,  its  eve,  or  vigil,  — that  is,  the  6th  of  July, 
—  had  been  observed  as  a  day  of  great  solemnity.  A 
touching  proof  of  the  feeling  with  which  it  was  re¬ 
garded  is  preserved  in  the  very  year  preceding  that  in 
which  its  observance  was  prohibited.  “  I  should  be 
sorry,”  wrote  Sir  Thomas  More,  on  the  day  before  his 
death, —  the  5th  of  July,  1535,  —  “that  it  should  be 
any  longer  than  to-morrow ;  for  it  is  Saint  Thomas’s  Eve 
and  the  Octave  of  Saint  Peter,  and  therefore  to-morrow 
beg  I  to  go  to  God.  It  were  a  meet  day  and  very  con¬ 
venient  for  me.” 1  By  the  Primates  of  the  English 
Church,  this  day  had  been  always  rigidly  kept  as  a 
fast :  the  usual  festivities  in  the  palace  at  Canterbury 
or  Lambeth,  as  the  case  may  be,  had  always  been  sus¬ 
pended  ;  the  poor  who  usually  came  to  the  gates  to  be 
fed  came  not;  the  fragments  of  meat  which  the  vast 
retinue  of  domestics  gathered  from  the  tables  of  the 
spacious  hall,  were  withheld.  But  Archbishop  Cran- 
mer  determined  to  carry  out  the  royal  injunctions 
thoroughly.  In  a  letter  written  to  Thomas  Cromwell, 
from  Ford,  in  the  August  of  this  year  (1537),  —  for  the 
most  part  by  his  secretary, — he  had  with  his  own  hand 
inserted  a  strong  remonstrance  against  the  inconsis¬ 
tency  of  the  royal  practice  and  profession :  “  But,  my 
Lord,  if  in  the  court  you  do  keep  such  holidays  and 
1  Wordsworth’s  Ecclesiastical  Biography,  ii.  217. 


I 


1538.]  TRIAL  OF  BECKET.  289 

fasting-days  as  be  abrogated,  when  shall  we  persuade 
the  people  to  cease  from  keeping  of  them  ?  for  the 
king’s  own  house  shall  be  an  example  to  all  the  realm 
to  break  his  own  ordinances.”  1  He  was  determined,  at 
any  rate,  that  “  the  Archbishop’s  own  house  ”  should 
on  this,  the  most  important  of  all  the  abrogated  days, 
set  a  fitting  precedent  of  obedience  to  the  new  law. 
On  that  eve,  for  the  first  time  for  more  than  three  hun¬ 
dred  years,  the  table  was  spread  as  usual  in  the  palace- 
hall2  for  the  officers  of  his  household,  with  the  large 
hospitality  then  required  by  custom  as  almost  the  first 
duty  of  the  Primate.  And  then  the  Archbishop  “  ate 
flesh  ”  on  the  Eve  of  Saint  Thomas,  and  “  did  sup  in  his 
hall  with  his  family,”  —  as  the  monk  of  St.  Augustine’s 
Abbey,  who  relates  the  incident,  dryly  observes,  “  which 
was  never  seen  before  in  all  time.”  3 

In  the  course  of  the  next  year  (1538),  whilst  the 
Archbishop  was  making  the  “  exposition  of  the  Epistle 
of  Saint  Paul  to  the  Hebrews  half  the  Lent  in  the  Chap¬ 
ter-house  of  the  monastery,”4  the  fatal  blow  gradually 
descended.  The  names  of  many  of  the  saints  whose 
festivals  had  been  discontinued,  remained  and  still  re¬ 
main  in  the  English  calendar.  But  Becket’s  memory 
was  open  to  a  more  grievous  charge  than  that  of  hav¬ 
ing  given  birth  to  idleness  and  superstition.  We  must 
remember  that  the  mind  of  the  king,  and,  with  a  few 
exceptions,  of  the  government,  of  the  hierarchy,  of  the 
nation  itself,  was  possessed  with  one  master  idea, — 
that  of  establishing  the  supremacy  of  the  Crown  over 
all  causes,  ecclesiastical  as  well  as  civil,  within  the 

1  Strype’s  Cranmer,  Appendix,  no.  xix.  2  Ibid.,  p.  16. 

3  Annals  of  an  Augustine  Monk,  Harleian  MSS.,  419,  fol.  112.  It 

is  somewhat  inaccurately  quoted  by  Strype. 

4  Ibid. 


19 


I 


290  TRIAL  OF  BECKET.  [1538. 

dominions  of  England.  It  has  now  in  practice  been 
interwoven  with  all  our  institutions ;  it  has  in  theory 
been  defended  and  adopted  by  some  of  our  ablest 
statesmen,  divines,  and  philosophers:  however  liable 
to  be  perverted  to  worldly  or  tyrannical  purposes,  there 
is  a  point  of  view  from  which  it  has  been  justly  re¬ 
garded  as  the  largest  and  noblest  opportunity  which 
outward  institutions  can  furnish  for  the  realization  of 
the  kingdom  of  God  upon  earth.  But,  be  it  right  or 
wrong,  it  was  then  held  in  England  to  be  the  one  great 
question  of  the  time;  and  to  this  doctrine  it  is  not 
surprising  that  the  story  of  Becket’s  career  should  have 
seemed  to  contain  a  direct  contradiction.  Doubtless, 
philosophical  historians  might  have  drawn  distinctions 
between  the  times  of  the  second  and  the  eighth  Henry, 
—  might  have  shown  that  the  truths  and  feelings  rep¬ 
resented  by  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  powers  at  these 
two  epochs  were  widely  different.  But  in  that  age  of 
indiscriminating  partisanship,  of  half-formed  knowl¬ 
edge,  of  passionate  impulses,  such  a  view  of  past  events 
could  not  be  found.  Even  King  John,  whom  we  now 
justly  account  one  of  the  worst  of  men,  was  exalted 
into  a  hero,  as  striving,  though  in  vain,  to  resist  the 
encroachments  of  the  Papacy.  The  recent  memory  of 
the  two  great  opponents  of  the  new  doctrine,  More  and 
Fisher,  whose  virtues  every  party  now  acknowledges, 
was  then  set  aside  with  the  summary  question,  “Should 
the  King’s  highness  have  suffered  those  traitors  to  live, 
Thomas  More  ‘  the  jester,’  and  Fisher  the  4  glorious 
hypocrite  ’  ?  ” 1  It  is  necessary  to  enter  into  these  feel¬ 
ings  to  understand  in  any  degree  the  events  which 
followed. 

1  Declaration  of  Faith,  1539.  (Collier’s  Ecc.  Hist.,  vol.  ii.  Appendix, 
no.  xlvii.) 


1538.] 


TRIAL  OF  BECKET. 


291 


On  the  24th  of  April,  1538  (such,  at  any  rate,  was 
the  story  reported  all  over  the  continent  of  Europe),  a 
summons  was  addressed  in  the  name  of  King  Henry 
VIII.,  “  to  thee,  Thomas  Becket,  sometime  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,”  charging  him  with  treason,  contumacy, 
and  rebellion.  It  was  read  within  the  walls  of  the  ca¬ 
thedral,  by  the  side  of  the  shrine :  thirty  days  were 
allowed  for  his  appearance;  and  when  at  the  expira¬ 
tion  of  that  period  the  canopy  and  ark  and  iron  chest 
remained  unmoved,  and  the  dead  man  had  not  risen 
to  answer  for  himself,  the  case  was  formally  argued  at 
Westminster  by  the  Attorney-General  on  the  part  of 
Henry  II.,  on  the  part  of  the  accused  by  an  advocate 
granted  at  the  public  expense  by  the  king.  The  ar¬ 
guments  of  the  Attorney-General  prevailed;  and  on 
the  10th  of  June  sentence  was  pronounced  against 
the  Archbishop,  —  that  his  bones  should  be  publicly 
burned,  to  admonish  the  living  of  their  duty  by  the 
punishment  of  the  dead ;  and  that  the  offerings  made  at 
the  shrine  should  be  forfeited  to  the  Crown.1 

1  The  grounds  for  doubting  this  story,  as  related  by  Sanders, 
Pollini,  and  by  Pope  Paul  III.  (Wilkins’s  Concilia,  ii.  835),  are  given 
in  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  p.  233 ;  Froude’s  History  of  England,  lii. 
301:  (1)  The  shrine  was  not  destroyed  in  August,  as  Pollini  states ; 
(2)  The  Narrative  of  Thomas  (see  Note  C),  as  well  as  the  Declaration 
of  Faith,  1539,  suggests  a  doubt  whether  any  of  the  bones,  except  the 
head,  were  burned  (see  Jenkyns’s  Cranmer,  i.  262)  ;  (3)  It  is  not  men¬ 
tioned  in  any  contemporary  English  authority,  and  especially  not  in 
the  long  and  close  correspondence  at  the  very  time,  between  Cromwell 
and  Prior  Goldwell ;  (4)  The  summons  is  dated  “  London,”  whereas 
official  papers  are  never  dated  from  London,  but  from  Westminster, 
Whitehall;  (5)  Henry  is  called  “Rex  Hiberniae.”  This  was  in  1538; 
he  did  not  take  the  title  till  1541.  On  the  other  hand,  may  be  noticed, 
as  slight  confirmation  of  the  general  truth  of  the  story :  ( 1 )  The  lan¬ 
guage  of  the  Proclamation  of  1538,  “Forasmuch  as  it  now  appeareth 
clearly  ;  ”  (2)  The  Declaration  of  1539,  “By  approbation  it  appeareth 
clearly;”  (3)  The  Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More  published  in  Wordsworth’s 
Ecclesiastical  Biography,  ii.  226,  “We  have  made  him,  after  so  many 
hundred  years,  a  traitor  to  the  king.” 


292 


TRIAL  OF  BECKET. 


[1538- 


Such,  at  least,  was  the  belief  at  Eome ;  and  though 
the  story  has  of  late  years  been  doubted,  there  is  nothing 
in  it  which  is  of  itself  incredible.  It  would,  if  true,  be 
but  one  instance  of  the  strange  union  of  violent  self- 
will  with  rigid  adherence  to  law,  which  characterizes 
all  the  Tudor  family,  but  especially  Henry  VIII.  It 
would  be  but  an  instance  of  the  same  scrupulous  casuis¬ 
try  which  suggested  the  fancied  violation  of  a  Levitical 
ordinance  as  an  occasion  for  annulling  his  marriage  with 
Catherine,  and  which  induced  him  to  adopt  in  the  case 
of  his  three  subsequent  wives  none  but  strictly  legal 
remedies.  It  will  be  but  an  instance  of  the  way  in 
which  every  act  of  that  reign  was  performed  in  due 
course  of  law  ;  and  thus,  as  if,  by  a  Providence  working 
good  out  of  evil,  all  the  stages  of  the  Reformation  re¬ 
ceived  all  the  sanction  which  the  combined  will  of  the 
sovereign  and  the  nation  could  give  them.  And  it  must 
be  remembered  that  in  this  process  there  was  nothing 
contrary  to  the  forms  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith, 
which  Henry  still  professed.1  However  absurd  to  us 
may  seem  the  citation  of  a  dead  man  from  his  grave, 
and  the  burning  his  bones  to  ashes  because  he  does  not 
appear,  it  was  the  exact  copy  of  what  had  been  before 
enacted  in  the  case  of  Wycliffe  at  Lutterworth,  and  of 
what  was  shortly  afterwards  enacted  by  Queen  Mary 
in  the  case  of  Bucer  and  Pagius  at  Cambridge.  But 
whatever  might  be  the  precise  mode  in  which  the 
intentions  of  Henry  and  Cranmer  were  expressed,  a 
royal  commission  was  duly  issued  for  their  execution. 

1  This  is  specially  put  forward  in  his  defence  in  the  Declaration  of 
Faith  (1559).  “  The  King’s  Highness  hath  never  put  any  man  to  death 
hut  by  ordinary  process  .  .  .  who  can  find  in  his  heart,  knowdng  this, 
to  think  the  same  prince  that  so  hath  judgment  ministered  by  the  law, 
to  be  a  tyrant  ?  ”  —  Collier’s  Eccl.  Hist.,  ii.  Appendix,  no.  xlii. 


1538.]  VISIT  OF  MADAME  DE  MONTREUIL. 


293 


One  more  visit  is  recorded  in  this  strange  interval 
of  suspense.  In  August  the  shrine  was  still  standing. 
On  the  last  day  of  that  month,  1538,  a  great  French 
lady  passed  through  Canterbury,  Madame  de  Montreuil, 
who  had  just  been  attending  Mary  of  Guise  to  Scotland. 
She  was  taken  to  see  the  wonders  of  the  place,  and 
“  marvelled  at  the  great  riches  thereof,”  and  said  “  that 
if  she  had  not  seen  it,  all  the  men  in  the  world  could 
never  ’a’  made  her  to  believe  it.”  But  it  was  mere 
wonder ;  the  ancient  spirit  of  devotion,  which  had  com¬ 
pelled  respect  from  Colet  and  Erasmus,  had  now  no 
place.  Cushions  were  set  for  her  to  kneel  both  at  the 
“  Shrine  ”  and  “  Head  ;  ”  and  thrice  the  Prior,  opening 
“  Saint  Thomas’  Head,  offered  her  to  kiss  it,  but  she 
neither  kneeled  nor  would  kiss  it,  but  still  viewing  the 
riches  thereof.  ...  So  she  departed  and  went  to  her 
lodging  to  dinner,  and  after  the  same  to  entertain  her 
with  honest  pastimes.  And  about  4  of  the  clock,  the 
said  Prior  did  send  her  a  present  of  coneys,  capons, 
chickens,  with  diverse  fruits  —  plenty  —  insomuch  that 
she  said,  ‘  What  shall  we  do  with  so  many  capons  ?  Let 
the  Lord  Prior  come  and  eat,  and  help  us  to  eat  them 
to-morrow  at  dinner,’  and  so  thanked  him  heartily 
for  the  said  present.”  1  This  was  the  last  recorded 
present  that  the  “Lord  Prior”  of  Canterbury  gave, 
and  the  last  recorded  pilgrim  who  saw  the  Shrine  of 
St.  Thomas. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  month 2  the  Eoyal  Com¬ 
mission  for  the  destruction  of  shrines,  under  Dr. 
Leyton,  arrived  at  Canterbury.  Unfortunately  every 
authentic  record  of  the  final  catastrophe  has  perished ; 

1  State  Papers,  i.  583,  584. 

2  Stow  gives  the  proceedings  under  “  September,  1538,”  which 
agrees  with  the  date  of  Madame  de  Montrenil’s  visit. 


294 


DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  SHRINE. 


[1538. 


and  the  precise  manner  of  the  devastation  is  involved 
in  obscurity  and  contradiction.  Like  all  the  acts  of 
destruction  at  the  Reformation,  as  distinct  from  those  in 
the  civil  wars  at  a  later  period,  it  was  probably  carried 
out  in  the  presence  of  the  Royal  Commissioners  with  all 
formality  and  order.  The  jewels  —  so  we  may  infer  from 
the  analogy  of  the  like  event  at  Durham  —  were  first 
carefully  picked  out  by  a  goldsmith  in  attendance,  and 
then  the  iron  chest  of  the  shrine  broken  open  with  a 
sledge-hammer.1  The  bones  within  2  were  either  scat¬ 
tered  to  the  winds,  or,  if  interred,  were  mingled  indiscri¬ 
minately  with  others ;  in  this  respect  sharing  a  different 
fate  from  that  of  most  of  the  disinterred  saints,  who 
after  the  destruction  of  their  shrines  were  buried  with 
decency  and  care  near  the  places  where  the  shrines 
had  stood.3  The  reputed  skull  in  the  golden  “  Head  ” 
was  treated  as  an  imposture,  from  its  being  so  much 
larger  than  the  portion  that  was  found  in  the  shrine 
with  the  rest  of  the  bones 4  and  was  burned  to  ashes 
as  such.  The  jewels  and  gold  of  the  shrine  were  car¬ 
ried  off  in  two  strong  coffers,  on  the  shoulders  of  seven 
or  eight  men ; 5  for  the  removal  of  the  rest  of  the 
spoils  six  and  twenty  carts  are  said  to  have  waited 
at  the  church  door.6  The  jewels,  no  doubt,  went 

1  See  Raine’s  Durham,  p.  55. 

2  It  was  a  dispute,  afterwards,  whether  the  bones  had  been  burned 
or  not ;  the  Roman  Catholics  maintaining  that  they  had  been,  the  Prot¬ 
estants  vehemently  denying  it.  This  shows  a  certain  consciousness  on 
the  part  of  the  latter  that  there  had  been  excessive  violence  used.  See 
Declaration  of  Faith,  1539  (in  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  236  ;  Collier,  Appen¬ 
dix,  no.  xlvii.),  and  William  Thomas,  1566,  Note  C).  That  they  were 
buried,  not  burned,  was  likely  from  the  unexceptionable  testimony  of  the 
Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  by  Harpsfield,  —  “We  have  of  late  unshrined 
him,  and  buried  his  holy  relics.”  (Wordsworth’s  Eccl.  Biog.,  ii.  226.) 

3  See  Raine’s  Durham,  p.  56.  4  Declaration  of  Faith,  1539. 

5  Stow’s  Annals,  1538. 

6  Sanders  in  Wilkins’s  Concilia,  iii.  836. 


1538.] 


PROCLAMATION. 


295 


into  the  royal  stores  ;  the  “  Eegale  of  France,”  the  glory 
of  the  shrine,  was  long  worn  by  Henry  himself  in  the 
ring 1  which  after  the  manner  of  those  times  encircled 
his  enormous  thumb  ;  the  last  time 2  that  it  appears 
in  history  is  among  the  “  diamonds  ”  of  the  golden 
“  collar  ”  of  his  daughter  Queen  Mary.3  The  healing 
virtues  of  the  well,  it  was  observed,  instantly  dis¬ 
appeared.  Cranmer,  on  the  18th  of  August,  had  al¬ 
ready  applied4  for  a  Eoyal  Commission  to  be  issued 
to  his  two  chaplains,  Dr.  Lee  and  Dr.  Barbour,  for  the 
examination  of  the  blood  of  Saint  Thomas,  which  he 
suspected  to  be  red  ochre.  Finally,  a  proclamation 
was  issued  on  the  16th  of  November,  setting  forth  the 
cause  and  mode  of  Becket’s  death,  in  a  statement  which 
displays  considerable  ability,  by  fixing  on  those  points 
in  the  ancient  narratives  which  unquestionably  reveal 
the  violent  temper  and  language  of  the  so-called  Mar¬ 
tyr.5  “  For  these,  and  for  other  great  and  urgent 
reasons,  long  to  recite,  the  King’s  Majesty,  by  the  ad¬ 
vice  of  his  council,  hath  thought  expedient  to  declare 
to  his  loving  subjects,  that  notwithstanding  the  said 

1  Such  a  ring  may  be  seen  on  the  thumb  of  the  contemporary  effigy 
of  Archbishop  Warham. 

2  Many  of  the  Crown  jewels  of  England  were  given  away  in  Spain 
(so  I  am  informed  by  Mr.  Ford)  during  the  mission  of  Prince  Charles 
and  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

3  Nichols’s  Erasmus,  p.  224. 

4  Jenkyns’s  Cranmer,  i.  262.  See  also  Note  C. 

6  “  His  death,  which  they  untruly  called  martyrdom,  happened  upon 
a  rescue  by  him  made;  and  that,  as  it  is  written,  he  gave  opprobrious 
names  to  the  gentlemen  which  then  counselled  him  to  leave  his  stub¬ 
bornness,  and  to  avoid  the  commotion  of  the  people  risen  up  for  that 
rescue.  And  he  not  only  called  one  of  them  ‘  Bawde,’  but  also  took 
Tracy  by  the  bosom,  and  violently  shook  and  plucked  him,  in  such  a 
manner  as  he  had  almost  overthrown  him  to  the  pavement  of  the 
church ;  so  that  upon  this  fray,  one  of  their  company,  perceiving  the 
same,  struck  him,  and  so  in  the  throng  Becket  was  slain.”  See  Wil¬ 
kins’s  Concilia,  iii.  848. 


296 


PROSCRIPTION  OF  THE  NAME. 


canonization,  there  appeareth  nothing  in  his  life  and 
exterior  conversation  whereby  he  should  he  called  a 
Saint;  but  rather  esteemed  a  rebel  and  traitor  to  his 
prince.  Therefore  his  Grace  straitly  chargeth  and  com- 
mandeth,  that  henceforth  the  said  Thomas  Becket  shall 
not  be  esteemed,  named,  reputed,  nor  called  a  Saint, 
but  ‘  Bishop  Becket/  and  that  his  images  and  pictures 
throughout  the  whole  realm  shall  be  put  down  and 
avoided  out  of  all  churches  and  chapels,  and  other 
places ;  and  that  from  henceforth  the  days  used  to  be 
festivals  in  his  name  shall  not  be  observed,  —  nor  the 
service,  office,  antiphonies,  collects,  and  prayers  in  his 
name  read,  but  rased  and  put  out  of  all  books.”  1 

Most  rigidly  was  this  proclamation  carried  out.  Not 
more  carefully  is  the  name  of  Geta  erased  by  his  rival 
brother  on  every  monument  of  the  Boman  Empire, 
from  Britain  to  Egypt,  than  that  of  the  contumacious 
Primate  by  the  triumphant  king.  Every  statue  and 
picture  of  the  “Traitor”  has  been  swept  away;  from, 
almost  every  illuminated  psalter,  missal,  and  every  copy 
of  historical  or  legal  document,  the  pen  or  the  knife 
of  the  eraser  has  effaced  the  once  honored  name 
and  figure  of  Saint  Thomas  wherever  it  occurs.2  At 
Canterbury  the  arms  of  the  city  and  cathedral  were  al¬ 
tered.  Within  the  church  some  fragments  of  painted 
glass,  and  the  defaced  picture  at  the  head  of  Henry 
IY.’s  tomb  are  his  only  memorials.  Even  in  the  sec¬ 
ond  year  of  Edward  YI.  the  obnoxious  name  was  still 
hunted  down ;  and  Cranmer,  in  his  “  Articles  of  Visi¬ 
tation  ”  for  that  year,  inquires  “  whether  they  have  put 
out  of  their  church  books  the  name  and  service  of 

1  Wilkins’s  Concilia,  iii.  848. 

2  See,  amongst  other  instances,  Capgrave’s  Chronicle,  p.  141.  “  Saint 
Thomas  ”  is  erased,  and  “  Kran  ”  substituted. 


DESTRUCTION  OF  RELICS  OF  ANTIQUITY.  297 

Thomas  Becket.”  The  site  of  his  original  tomb  in  the 
crypt  was,  a  few  months  after  the  fall  of  the  shrine,  an¬ 
nexed  by  an  Order  in  Council  to  the  house  of  the  first 
canon  of  the  newly  erected  Chapter,  and  was  retained 
almost  to  our  own  time  as  his  cellar  for  wine  and 
fagots.  So  completely  were  the  records  of  the  shrine 
destroyed,  that  the  cathedral  archives  throw  hardly  the 
slightest  light  either  on  its  existence  or  its  removal.1 
And  its  site  has  remained,  from  that  day  to  this,  a 
vacant  space,  with  the  marks  of  the  violence  of  the 
destruction  even  yet  visible  on  the  broken  pavement. 

Bound  it  still  lie  the  tombs  of  king  and  prince  and 
archbishop  ;  the  worn  marks  on  the  stones  show  the 
reverence  of  former  ages.  But  the  place  itself  is  va¬ 
cant,  and  the  lessons  which  that  vacancy  has  to  teach 
us  must  now  take  the  place  of  the  lessons  of  the  ancient 
shrine. 

There  are  very  few  probably,  at  the  present  time,  in 
whom,  as  they  look  round  on  the  desolate  pavement, 
the  first  feeling  that  arises  is  not  one  of  disappointment 
and  regret  that  a  monument  of  past  times  so  costly 
and  curious  should  have  been  thus  entirely  obliterated 
There  is  probably  no  one  who,  if  the  shrine  were  now 
standing,  would  dream  of  removing  it.  One  such  tomb, 
as  has  been  said,  still  remains  in  Westminster  Abbey ; 
the  very  notion  of  destroying  it  would  call  out  a  general 
outcry  from  all  educated  men  throughout  the  kingdom. 
Why  is  it  that  this  feeling,  so  familiar  and  so  natural 
to  us,  should  then  have  been  so  completely  overruled  ? 
The  answer  to  this  question  is  doubly  instructive. 
First,  it  reveals  to  us  one  great  difference  between  our 
age  and  the  time  not  only  of  the  Beformation  but  of 
many  preceding  ages.  In  our  time  there  has  sprung 
1  See  Note  F.,  p.  326. 


298  DESTRUCTION  OF  RELICS  OF  ANTIQUITY. 

up,  to  a  degree  hitherto  unprecedented,  a  love  of  what 
is  old,  of  what  is  beautiful,  of  what  is  venerable,  —  a 
desire  to  cherish  the  memorials  of  the  past,  and  to  keep 
before  our  eyes  the  vestiges  of  times  which  are  brought 
so  vividly  before  us  in  no  other  way.  It  is,  as  it  were, 
God’s  compensation  to  the  world  for  its  advancing 
years.  Earlier  ages  care  but  little  for  these  relics  of 
antiquity :  one  is  swept  away  after  another  to  make 
room  for  what  is  yet  to  come ;  precious  works  of  art, 
precious  recollections,  are  trampled  under  foot ;  the 
very  abundance  in  which  they  exist  seems  to  beget 
an  indifference  towards  them.  But  in  proportion  as 
they  become  fewer  and  fewer,  the  affection  for  them 
grows  stronger  and  stronger ;  and  the  further  we  recede 
from  the  past,  the  more  eager  now  seems  our  craving 
to  attach  ourselves  to  it  by  every  link  that  remains. 
Such  a  feeling  it  is  which  most  of  us  would  entertain 
towards  this  ancient  shrine,  —  such  a  feeling  as  in  the 
mass  of  men  hardly  existed  at  the  time  of  its  destruc¬ 
tion.  In  this  respect,  at  least,  we  are  richer  than  were 
our  fathers  :  other  gifts  they  had,  which  we  have  not ; 
this  gift  of  insight  into  the  past,  of  loving  it  for  its  own 
sake,  of  retaining  around  us  as  much  as  we  can  of  its 
grace  and  beauty,  we  have,  as  they  had  not.  It  is 
true  that  reverence  for  the  dead  ought  never  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  the  living,  —  that  when  any  great  evil  is 
avoided,  or  any  great  good  attained,  by  destroying  old 
recollections,  no  historical  or  antiquarian  tenderness  can 
be  pleaded  for  their  preservation ;  but  where  no  such 
reason  exists,  let  us  keep  them  as  best  we  can.  And  as 
we  stand  on  the  vacant  space  of  Becket’s  Shrine,  let  us 
be  thankful  that  we  have  retained  what  we  have,  and 
cherish  it  accordingly. 

It  is  impossible,  however,  to  read  the  signs  of 


NECESSITY  FOE,  DESTRUCTION  OF  SHRINE.  299 

the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  without  per¬ 
ceiving  that  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas  fell  not  simply 
from  a  love  of  destruction  or  a  desire  of  plunder,  hut 
before  a  sense  of  overwhelming  necessity.  Had  the 
Eeformers  been  ever  so  anxious  to  retain  it,  they  would 
probably  have  found  it  impossible  to  do  so.  However 
much  the  rapacity  of  Henry  VIII.  may  have  prompted 
him  to  appropriate  the  treasures  to  himself,  and  how¬ 
ever  much  we  may  lament  the  wholesale  plunder  of  a 
fund  which  might  have  endowed  great  public  institu¬ 
tions,  yet  the  destruction  of  the  shrine  was  justified  on 
general  reasons,  and  those  reasons  commended  them¬ 
selves  to  the  common  sense  and  feeling  of  the  nation 
and  the  age.  The  mode  in  which  it  was  destroyed  may 
appear  violent;  but  it  was  the  violence,  partly  char¬ 
acteristic  of  a  barbarous  and  revolutionary  epoch,  partly 
such  as  always  is  produced  by  the  long  growth  of  some 
great  abuse.  A  striking  proof  of  this  fact,  which  is  also 
itself  one  of  the  most  surprising  parts  of  the  whole 
transaction,  is  the  apathy  with  which  the  clergy  and 
the  people  acquiesced  in  the  act  of  the  government. 
When  a  similar  destruction  was  effected  in  France,  at 
the  time  of  the  great  Ee volution,  although  the  horrors 
perpetrated  were  even  greater,  yet  there  were  loyal 
hands  to  save  some  relic  at  least  from  the  general  ruin ; 
and  when  the  Abbey  of  St.  Denis  was  again  opened 
after  the  Eestoration,  the  ashes  of  the  sovereigns,  the 
fragments  of  the  royal  tombs,  were  still  preserved 
sufficiently  to  fill  again  the  vacant  spaces.  Yet  of 
Becket’s  Shrine  hardly  a  shred  or  particle  has  ever  been 
traced ;  the  storm  had  long  been  gathering,  yet  it  burst 
at  last  with  hardly  an  effort  to  avert  it,  and  the  des¬ 
ecration  was  executed  by  officers,  and  sanctioned  by 
ecclesiastics,  who  in  name  at  least  still  belonged  to  the 


300 


KELIC-W  ORSHIP. 


ancient  faith.  At  Rome,  indeed,  it  was  made  one  of 
the  special  grounds  of  the  hull  of  excommunication 
issued  by  the  Pope  in  the  December  of  that  year.  But 
in  England  hardly  a  murmur  transpires.  Only  one  com¬ 
plaint  has  reached  our  time :  Cranmer  wrote  to  Crom¬ 
well  in  the  following  year,  to  tell  him  that  a  drunken 
man  had  been  heard  to  say 1  that  “  it  was  a  pity  and 
naughtily  done  to  put  down  the  Pope  and  Saint 
Thomas.”  Something  of  this  silence  may  doubtless 
be  ascribed  to  the  reign  of  terror  which  more  or  less 
characterizes  the  administration  of  justice  in  the  time 
of  Henry  VIII.  But  it  cannot  be  so  explained  alto¬ 
gether.  Ho  Thomas  More  was  found  to  die  for  Becket, 
as  there  had  been  for  the  Pope’s  supremacy.  And 
during  the  five  years  of  the  restored  Roman  Catholic 
Religion  in  the  reign  of  Mary,  although  an  order  was 
issued  by  Cardinal  Pole  to  restore  the  name  of  Saint 
Thomas  to  the  missals  from  which  it  had  been  erased,2 
yet  no  attempt  was  made  to  revive  the  pilgrimage  to 
Canterbury ;  and  the  queen  herself,  though  usually 
eager  for  the  restitution  of  the  treasures  which  her 
father  had  taken  from  the  churches  and  convents,  did 
not  scruple,  as  we  have  seen,  to  wear  in  her  necklace 
the  choicest  jewel  of  the  shrine.  The  account  of 
Erasmus’s  visit,  as  already  given,  is  in  fact  sufficient  to 
show  how  completely  the  system  of  relic-worship  and 
of  pilgrimage  had  worked  its  own  ruin,  —  how  deep  was 
the  disgust  which  it  awakened  in  the  minds  of  intel* 
ligent  men,  unwilling  though  they  might  be  to  disturb 
the  established  forms  of  religion.  By  the  time  that  the 
catastrophe  was  accomplished,  Colet  had  already  been 
laid  to  rest  in  the  choir  of  St.  Paul’s;  the  tomb  had 

1  Jenkyns’s  Cranmer,  i  278. 

2  Strype’s  Cranmer,  Appendix,  no.  81. 


CONCLUSION. 


301 


already  closed  over  Erasmus  in  his  beloved  retirement  at 
Basle.  But  we  cannot  doubt  that  could  they  have  lived 
to  see  the  completion  of  the  overthrow  which  their  saga¬ 
cious  minds  clearly  foresaw,  as  they  knelt  before  the 
shrine  a  few  years  before,  the  one  would  have  received 
the  tidings  with  undisguised  exultation,  the  other  with 
a  sigh  indeed,  yet  with  a  full  sense  of  the  justice  of  the 
act. 

It  is  therefore  a  satisfaction,  as  we  look  on  the  broken 
pavement,  to  feel  that,  here  as  elsewhere,  no  great  in¬ 
stitution  perishes  without  good  cause.  Had  Stephen 
Langton  been  asked  which  was  most  likely  to  endure, — 
the  Magna  Charta  which  he  won  from  John,  or  the 
Shrine  which  five  years  afterwards  he  consecrated  in 
the  presence  of  Henry  III., —  he  would,  beyond  all 
question,  have  said  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas.  But 
we  see  what  he  could  not  see,  —  we  see  that  the  Charter 
has  lasted,  because  it  was  founded  on  the  eternal  laws 
of  truth  and  justice  and  freedom :  the  Shrine  has  van¬ 
ished  away,  because  it  was  founded  on  the  passing 
opinion  of  the  day;  because  it  rested  on  ignorance, 
which  was  gradually  dissolving ;  because  it  was  en¬ 
tangled  with  exaggerated  superstitions,  which  were 
condemned  by  the  wise  and  good  even  of  those  very 
times.  But  the  vacant  space  is  more  than  this :  it  is 
not  only  a  sign  of  the  violent  convulsion  through  which 
the  Beformation  was  effected ;  but  it  is  a  sign  also,  if  we 
could  so  take  it,  of  what  the  Beformation  has  effected 
for  us,  and  what  duties  it  has  laid  upon  us.  If  one  of 
the  ancient  pilgrims  were  to  rise  again,  and  look  in  vain 
for  the  object  of  his  long  devotion,  he  would  think  that 
we  were  men  without  religion.1  So,  in  like  manner, 

1  A  curious  instance  occurs  in  Bishop  Doyle’s  Account  of  his  visit 
to  Canterbury,  in  1828.  “  I  beheld  a  lofty  cloister  and  a  mouldering 


302 


CONCLUSION. 


when  the  Gentile  conqueror  entered  the  Holy  of  Holies 
and  looked  around,  and  saw  that  there  was  no  graven 
image  or  likeness  of  anything  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  he 
marvelled  at  the  “  vacant  sanctuary,’’ 1  as  of  a  worship 
without  a  God.  Yet  Pompey  in  the  Temple  of  Jeru¬ 
salem  and  the  ancient  pilgrim  in  Canterbury  Cathedral 
would  be  alike  mistaken.  It  is  true  that  a  void  has 
been  created,  —  that  the  Reformation  often  left,  as  here 
in  the  old  sanctuary  of  the  cathedral,  so  on  a  wider 
scale  in  the  hearts  of  men,  a  vacancy  and  a  coldness 
which  it  is  useless  to  deny,  though  easy  to  explain 
and  to  a  certain  point  defend.  But  this  vacancy,  this 
natural  result  of  every  great  convulsion  of  the  human 
mind,  is  one  which  it  is  our  own  fault  if  we  do  not  fill 
up,  in  the  only  way  in  which  it  can  be  filled  up,  —  not  by 
rebuilding  what  the  reformers  justly  destroyed,  nor  yet 
by  disparaging  the  better  qualities  of  the  old  saints  and 
pilgrims,  but  by  a  higher  worship  of  God,  by  a  more 
faithful  service  of  man,  than  was  then  thought  possible. 
In  proportion  to  our  thankfulness  that  ancient  super¬ 
stitions  are  destroyed,  should  be  our  anxiety  that  new 
light  and  increased  zeal  and  more  active  goodness 
should  take  their  place.  Our  pilgrimage  cannot  be 
Geoffrey  Chaucer’s,  but  it  may  be  John  Bunyan’s.  In 

pile  .  .  .  which  might  hear  on  its  porch  the  inscription  ...  to  the 
Unknown  God.  It  is  a  wide  and  spacious  waste,  cold  and  untenanted. 
It  now  had  no  altar,  no  sacrifice,  no  priesthood.”  And  so  easily  does 
his  imagination  get  the  better  of  facts,  that  he  proceeds :  “  The  only 
symbol  of  Christianity  not  yet  extinct  which  I  discovered  was  a  chapel 
in  the  cloister ,  where  the  verger  who  accompanied  me  (for  hire)  ob¬ 
served  that ‘service  was  at  certain  times  performed.’  I  cried  out  .  .  . 

‘  Where  are  the  canons  and  the  dignitaries  ?  .  .  .  Where  is  the  loud 
song  or  the  sweet  canticle  of  praise  ?  *  &c.,  &c.”  (Fitzpatrick’s  Doyle, 
ii.  90.)  Probably  Bishop  Doyle’s  visit  was  paid  to  Canterbury  whilst 
the  cathedral  was  undergoing  repairs,  and  the  service  was  necessarily 
carried  on  in  the  chapter-house. 

1  “  Vacuam  sedem,  inania  arcana.”  — -  Tacitus,  Hist.,  v.  9. 


CONCLUSION. 


303 


that  true  “  Pilgrim’s  Way  ”  to  a  better  country,  we  have 
all  of  us  to  toil  over  many  a  rugged  hill,  over  many 
a  dreary  plain,  by  many  opposite  and  devious  paths, 
cheering  one  another  by  all  means,  grave  and  gay,  till 
we  see  the  distant  towers.  In  that  pilgrimage  and 
progress  towards  all  things  good  and  wise  and  holy, 
Canterbury  Cathedral,  let  us  humbly  trust,  may  still 
have  a  part  to  play.  Although  it  is  no  longer  the  end  in 
the  long  journey,  it  may  still  be  a  stage  in  our  advance ; 
it  may  still  enlighten,  elevate,  sanctify,  those  who  come 
within  its  reach ;  it  may  still,  if  it  be  true  to  its  high 
purpose,  win  for  itself,  in  the  generations  which  are  to 
come  after  us,  a  glory  more  humble  but  not  less  ex¬ 
cellent  than  when  a  hundred  thousand  worshippers  lay 
prostrate  before  the  shrine  of  its  ancient  hero. 


APPENDIX  TO  “  THE  SHRINE  OF 
BECKET.’, 


NOTE  A. 

[The  following  extracts  are  from  a  manuscript  history  of 
Canterbury  Cathedral,  in  Norman  French,  entitled  “Polis- 
toire,”  in  the  Harleian  MSS.  in  the  British  Museum.  My  at¬ 
tention  was  called  to  this  curious  document  by  Mr.  Bond,  to 
whom  I  would  here  beg  to  express  my  thanks  for  his  con¬ 
stant  courtesy  whenever  I  have  had  occasion  to  consult 
him.] 


THE  WELL  OF  ST.  THOMAS.  (See  p.  272.) 

Harl.  MS.  636,  fol.  143  b,  col.  1,  line  6,  ab  ima. 

(1)  Si  fust  la  place  apres  tost  balee,  et  la  poudre  coylee 
de  coste  le  eglise  gettue  en  vn  lyu  dunt  auaunt  nout  par- 
launce ;  mes  en  fest  le  poer  Deu  tauntost  habundaunt  par 
uirtue  tregraciouse  de  queu  merite  le  martyr  estoyt  a  tute 
gent  nout  tost  estre  conu.  Dunt  en  le  lyu  auaunt  dist  ou 
ne  gweres  en  sa  ariere  moysture  ny  apparust  mes  euwe  hi 
auoyt  tut  fust  ele  petite,  sa  colur  naturele  quant  la  poudre 
ressu  auoit  tost  chaunga,  cest  a  sauoir  vne  foiz  en  let  et 
quatre  foyz  la  colour  de  saunc  reprist.  E  puys  en  sa  na¬ 
ture  demeyne  returna.  Si  comensa  aboylir  de  source 
habundaunte  et  demurt  funtayne  plentyuuse.  Dunt  puys 
plusurs  greues  de  diuers  maladies  graciousement  en  sunt 
garys. 


20 


306  EXTRACTS  FROM  A  MANUSCRIPT  HISTORY. 


Ibid.,fol.  150,  col.  1. 

(  2  )  [ King  Henry  II.  after  his  penance]  .  .  .  Puis  le  matyn 
kaunt  le  iur  cler  apparust  messe  requist  et  la  oyst  deuoute- 
ment  et  puis  del  ewe  Seint  Thomas  bust  a  la  funtaine 
auaunt  nomee,  ke  de  saunc  et  let  la  colur  prist,  et  puys 
en  sa  nature  returna,  et  vne  ampulle  de  cele  ewe  pleyne  oue 
ly  prist,  cum  en  signe  de  pelryn,  et  ioyous  de  Caunterbur 
departist  cel  samady. 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  RELICS  OF  SAINT. 

THOMAS  IN  1220.  (See  p.  239.) 

Harl.  MS.  636,  fol.  202  6,  col.  2,  l.  15,  ab  ima. 

Ausi  memes  cel  an  la  none  de  Jun  a  Caunterbire  fust 
Seint  Thomas  le  martir  translate.  Le  an  de  sun  martyre- 
ment  1.  per  lerseueske  Estephene  auaunt  nome  de  Canter- 
bire.  Coment  ceste  sollempnete  estoyt  feste  a  tote  gent 
uoil  estre  conu,  et  me  a  forceray  de  cele  la  manere  breve- 
ment  parcunter.  Lerseueske  Estephene  de  Langetone  del 
hure  ke  cele  dignete  out  ressu,  apres  ceo  ke  en  Engletere 
fust  ariue  et  le  couent  del  exil  reuenu  estoyt,  se  pur- 
pensa  totes  hures  coment  les  reliques  sun  predecessur  Seint 
Thomas  le  glorious  martyr  poeyt  honurer  par  la  translatiun 
fere,  et  la  purueaunce  des  choses  necessaries  largement  fist, 
cum  ia  mustre  en  fest  serra.  Dunt  cum  del  iur  certein  ke 
cele  translatiun  sollempne  fere  uoloyt,  an  puple  parmye  la 
tere  out  la  notificatiun  fest,  tauns  des  grauns  hi  sunt  venuz, 
et  puple  cum  sauns  numbre,  ke  la  cite  de  Caunterbire 
lie  la  suburbe,  ne  les  menues  uiles  enuiroun,  a  cele  yoing- 
nauntes  procheynes,  le  puple  taunt  uenu  ne  poeyent  en  lurs 
mesuns  resceyure.  Le  Roy  ausi  Henry  le  iij.  a  la  requeste 
lerseueske  de  Caunterbire  uenu  hi  estoit.  Si  demora  oue 
lerseueske  et  ansemble  oue  ly  tuz  les  grauns  ke  venus  es- 
toyent  la  ueile  et  le  iur  de  la  translatiun  en  tuz  custages. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A  MANUSCRIPT  HISTORY.  307 


Estre  ceo  en  les  entrees  ce  la  cite  a  chescune  porte  en  my 
la  ruel  es  toneaus  de  vin  en  foylis  fist  cocher  lerseueske  et 
ces  mynistres  mettre  pur  largement  au  puple  doner  en  la 
chalyne  sauns  paer  accune  moneye.  E  ausi  en  quatre  lyus 
dediens  la  cite  en  les  quarfoucs  en  memes  la  manere  fist  les 
toneaus  mettre  pur  seruir  a  la  mene  gent.  E  defendre  fist 
en  les  iiij.  celers  de  vin  ke  riens  ny  fust  au  puple  estraunge 
uendu,  si  nun  pleynement  a  ces  custages,  et  ceo  par  sereuwe 
de  ces  gens  a  ceo  assignes.  Quar  nestoyt  lors  dediens  la 
cite  en  plus  de  lyus  uin  troue  a  uendre.  En  teu  manere  les 
choses  dehors  ordines,  lerseueske  Estephene  et  Gauter  le 
priur  ansemble  oue  tut  le  couent  del  eglise  Jhu  Crist  en 
la  nuyt  procheyne  deuaunt  le  iur  de  la  translatiun  en  due 
furme  de  deuociun  au  sepulcre  del  martyr  approcherent. 
E  ilukes  au  comencement  en  luro  orisuns  se  donerent  tuz 
taunt  cum  la  brefte  de  la  nuyte  le  poeyt  suffrir.  Puys  sunt 
les  peres  de  la  tumbe  sauns  blemysement  remues  per  les 
mevns  des  moygnes  a  ceo  ordines,  et  se  leuerent  les  autres 
tuz  si  aprocherent,  et  cel  martyr  de  ioye  regardauns  ne  se 
poeyent  des  lermes  tenir.  E  puys  autrefoyz  as  orisuns  se 
unt  dones  tuz  en  comune  hors  pris  accuns  des  moygnes  ke 
de  seinte  vie  especiaument  elu  furent  a  cel  tresor  precious 
hors  de  sepulcre  remuer.  Les  queus  le  unt  leue  et  en  une 
chace  de  fust  honeste  a  ceo  appareyle  le  unt  mys.  La  quele 
de  fer  bien  yert  asseurie  si  la  fermerent  queyntement  par 
clous  de  fer,  et  puyns  en  lyu  honeste  et  priue  le  porterent 
tannt  ke  lendemeyn  le  iur  de  la  translatiun  sollempnement 
a  cele  brer.  Puys  le  matyn  en  cele  mere  eglise  se  assem- 
blerent  les  prelats  tuz,  cest  a  sauoyr,  Pandulf  auaunt  nome 
de  la  seinte  eglise  de  rome  legat,  et  Esteuene  erseueske  de 
Caunterbire  oue  les  autres  eueskes  ces  suffragans  tuz  uenux 
hors  pris  troys,  des  queus  lun  mort  estoyt  et  les  deus  par 
maladie  furent  escuses.  Ceus  en  la  presence  le  Roy  Den- 
gletere  auaunt  nome  Henry  le  iij.  au  lyu  ou  le  martyr 
glorious  fust  demore  tost  alerent,  et  la  chace  pristrent 
deuoutement  en  quer  deuaunt  lauter  de  la  Trinite  ke  est 
en  le  orient  del  see  petriarchal.  Ilukes  desuz  un  autre 


308  MARRIAGE  OF  EDWARD  I.  AT  CANTERBURY. 


chace  de  fust  trerichement  de  oer  et  des  peres  preciouses 
appareylee  en  tote  reuerence  honurablement  cele  mistrent. 
Si  demurt  par  plate  de  oer  tote  part  couerte  et  richement 
garnye. 


MARRIAGE  OF  EDWARD  I.  AT  CANTERBURY. 

(See  p.  277.) 

Harl.  MS.  636,  ful.  225,  col.  1,  line  4. 

Pus  sur  cele  ordinaunce  vint  en  Engletere  la  auauntdiste 
Margarete,  et  la  v.  Ide  de  Septembre  lerceueske  de  Caunter¬ 
byre  Robert  les  esposailes  celebra  entre  le  Eduuard  auaunt- 
dist  et  cele  Margarete  en  le  hus  del  eglise  de  Caunterbyre 
deuers  len  cloistre  de  coste  le  hus  del  martirement  Seynt 
Thomas.  Kar  le  roy  hors  de  la  chaumbre  le  priur  vint,  et 
Margarete  hors  du  paleys  lerceueske  ou  lurs  hosteaurs  pris 
estoient.  E  sur  ceo  lerceueske  auaunt  nome  Robert  la  messe 
des  esposay  les  celebra  al  auter  del  fertre  Seynt  Thomas  le 
martir.  E  le  drap  ke  outre  le  roy  et  la  royne  fust  estendu 
en  tens  de  la  benisun  plusurs  chalengerent.  Cest  a  sauoyr 
lerceueske  par  la  resun  de  sun  office,  le  priur  par  la  resun 
de  la  mere  eglise,  en  la  quele  vnkes  accun  riens  ne  ressust 
ne  ne  ouoyt  de  fee,  par  la  resun  de. office  ke  en  cele  feist, 
pur  ceo  ke  leglise  de  Caunterbyre  ne  est  une  chapele 
lerceueske,  mes  mere  eglise  de  totes  les  eglises  et  chapeles 
de  tute  la  prouince  de  Caunterbyre.  Le  clerc  ausi  ke  la 
croyz  lerceueske  porta  le  auauntdist  drap  chalanga.  E  les 
clers  ausi  de  la  chapele  le  roy  cel  memes  drap  chalengerent. 
Dunt  per  ceo  ke  en  teu  manere  taunt  de  diuers  chalenges 
sur  cel  drap  hy  estoyent  et  certein  vnkore  nestoit  a  ki  de 
droit  demorer  deuoyt,  comaunda  le  roy  cel  drap  au  Cunte  de 
Nichole  liurer,  ausi  cum  en  owele  meyn,  taunt  ke  la  dis- 
cussiun  se  preist,  ky  de  droyt  le  deueroyt  auoyr.  Si  fust 
cel  drap  negeres  apres  de  par  le  roy  au  fertre  Seynt  Thomas 
maunde.  Le  samaday  procheyn  suyaunt  la  auauntdiste 
royne  Margarete  sa  messe  en  la  chapele  lerceueske  dediens 


TRAVELS  OF  THE  BOHEMIAN  EMBASSY.”  309 


le  paleys  oyst,  la  quele  celebra:  le  eueske  de  Couentre.  Si 
offrist  ilukes  la  royne  a  la  manere  de  autres  femmes  sun 
cirge  a  les  miens  del  eveske  chauntaunt.  E  fust  cel  cirge 
tauntost  au  ferte  Seint  Thomas  porte. 


NOTE  B. 

[In  1446  a  Bohemian  noble,  Leo  von  Rotzmital,  was  sent 
on  an  embassy  to  England.  His  travels  are  related  in  two 
curious  narratives,  —  one  by  a  Bohemian,  Schassek,  now  only 
known  through  a  Latin  translation ;  the  other,  a  German, 
Tetzel,  of  Nuremberg.  They  were  published  in  1847  by 
Professor  Hye,  in  the  University  of  Ghent,  and  were  first 
introduced  to  the  notice  of  the  English  public  in  an  able 
and  instructive  article  in  the  “  Quarterly  Review,”  of  March, 
1852,  ascribed  to  Mr.  Ford.  To  his  courtesy  I  am  indebted 
for  the  volume  from  which  the  following  extracts  are  made.] 


JOURNEY  OF  THE  BOHEMIAN  AMBASSADOR  TO 
CANTERBURY.  (See  pp.  244,  261, 262.) 

(1)  Post  eum  casum  die  tertia,  rursus  navim  conscen- 
dentes,  in  Angliam  cursum  tenuimus.  Cumque  appropinqua- 
remus,  conspeximus  montes  excelsos  calce  plenos,  quam  igne 
urere  opus  non  est. 

Ii  montes  e  longinquo  nivibus  operti  videntur.  Iis  arx 
adjacet,  a  Cacodaemonibus  extructa,  adeo  valida  et  munita, 
ut  in  nulla  Ghristianorum  provincia  par  ei  reperiri  queat. 
Montes  illos  arcemque  praetervecti  Sandvico  urbi  appuli- 
mus;  ea  mari  adjacet,  unde  multae  regiones  navibus  adiri 
possunt.  Haec  prima  urbium  Angliae  in  eo  littore  occurrit. 

Ibi  primum  conspexi  navigia  maritima,  Naves,  Galeones, 
et  Cochas.  Navis  dicitur,  quae  ventis  et  solis  agitur.  Ga- 
leon  est,  qui  remigio  ducitur :  eorum  aliqui  ultra  ducentos 
remiges  habent.  Id  navigii  genus  est  magnitudine  et  longi- 


310 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE 


tudine  praecellenti,  quo  et  secundis  et  adversis  ventis  navi- 
gari  potest.  Eo,  ut  plurimum,  bella  maritima  geri  consuevere, 
utpote  quod  aliquot  centenos  homines  simul  capere  possit. 
Tertium  genus  est  Oocha,  quam  dicunt,  et  ea  satis  magna. 
Sed  nullam  rem  magis  demirabar,  quam  nautas  malum  as- 
cendentes,  et  ventorum  adventum  distantiamque  praedicen- 
tes,  et  quae  vela  intendi,  quaeve  demi  debeant,  praecipientes. 
Inter  eos  unum  nautam  ita  agilem  vidi,  ut  vix  cum  eo 
quisquam  comparari  possit. 

Sandvici  consuetudo  est,  ut  totam  noctem  cum  fidicinibus 
et  tubicinibus  obambulent,  clamantes,  et  quis  eo  tempore 
ventus  flet,  annunciantes.  Eo  audito  negociatores,  si  ventus 
sibi  commodus  flare  nunciatur,  egressi  naves  conscendunt  et 
ad  patrias  suas  cursum  dirigunt. 

Sandvico  Cantuariam  octo  milliarium  iter  est.  Ea  urbs 
est  Archiepiscopo  Angliae  subjecta,  qui  ibi  domicilium  suum 
habet.  Coenobium  ibi  visitur  tanta  elegantia,  ut  ei  vix  in 
ulla  Christianorum  provincia  par  inveniatur,  sicut  hac  in  re 
omnes  peregrinatores  consentiunt.  Id  templum  triplici  con- 
tignatione  fornicata  constat,  ita  ut  tria  templa,  unum  supra 
alterum,  censeri  possint :  desuper  stanno  totum  contegitur. 

In  eo  templo  occisus  est  Divus  Thomas  Cantuariensis 
Archiepiscopus,  ideo  quod  in  quis  legibus,  quas  Rex  Henricus 
contra  Ecclesiae  Catholicae  libertatem  rogabat,  sese  constan- 
ter  opposuit.  Qui  primum  in  exilium  pulsus  est,  deinde  cum 
revocatus  esset,  in  templo  sub  vespertinis  precibus  a  nefa- 
riis  hominibus,  qui  regi  impio  gratificari  cupiebant,  Deum  et 
sanctos  invocans,  capite  truncatus  est. 

Ibi  vidimus  sepulchrum  et  caput  ipsius.  Sepulchrum  ex 
puro  auro  conflatum  est,  et  gemmis  adornatum,  tamque  mag- 
nificis  donariis  ditatum,  ut  par  ei  nesciam.  Inter  alias  res 
preciosas  spectatur  in  eo  et  carbunculus  gemma,  qui  noctu 
splendere  solet,  dimidi  ovi  gallinacei  magnitudine.  Illud 
enim  sepulchrum  a  multis  Regibus,  Principibus,  mercatori- 
bus  opulentis,  aliisque  piis  hominibus  munifice  locupletatum 
est.  Ibi  omnes  reliquiae  nobis  monstratae  sunt :  primum 
caput  Divi  Thomae  Archiepiscopi,  rasuraque  vel  calvities 


TRAVELS  OF  THE  BOHEMIAN  EMBASSY.”  311 


ejusdem  ;  deinde  eolumna  ante  sacellum  Genitricis  Dei,  juxta 
quam  orare,  et  colloquio  Beatae  virginis  (quod  a  multis  visum 
et  auditum  esse  nobis  certo  affirmabatur)  perfrui  solitus  est. 
Sed  ex  eo  tempore,  quo  haec  facta  fuerant  jam  anni  trecenti 
elapsi  sunt.  Divus  autem  ipse  non  statim  pro  sancto  habi¬ 
tus  est,  verum  post  annos  demura  ducentos,  cum  ingentibus 
miraculis  inclaresceret,  in  numerum  divorum  relatus  est. 

Fons  est  in  eo  coenobio,  cujus  aquae  quinquies  in  san- 
guinem,  et  semel  in  lac  commutatae  fuerant,  idque  non  multo 
ante,  quam  nos  eo  venissemus,  factum  esse  dicitur. 

Caeteras  sacras  reliquias,  quas  ibi  conspeximus,  omnes  an- 
notavi,  quae  hae  sunt :  primum  vidimus  redimiculum  Beatae 
virginis,  frustum  de  veste  Christi,  tresque  spinas  de  corona 
ejusdem. 

Deinde  contemplati  sumus  sancti  Thomae  subuculum,  et 
cerebrum  ejus,  et  divorum  Thomae  Iohannisque  Apostolorum 
sanguinem.  Spectavimus  etiam  gladium,  quo  decollatus  est 
sanctus  Thomas  Cantuariensis,  et  crines  matris  Dei,  et  por- 
tionem  de  sepulchro  ejusdem.  Monstrabatur  quoque  nobis 
pars  humeri  Divi  Simeonis,  ejus,  qui  Christum  in  ulnis  ges- 
taverat,  Beatae  Lustrabenae  caput,  crus  unum  S.  Georgii, 
frustum  corporis  et  ossa  S.  Laurentii,  crus  S.  Romani  Epis- 
copi  crus  Ricordiae  virginis,  calix  Beati  Thomae,  quo  in 
administratione  Missae  Cantuariae  uti  fuerat  solitus,  crus 
Mildae  virginis,  crus  Euduardae  virginis.  Aspeximus  quo¬ 
que  dentem  Johannis  Baptistae,  portionem  crucis  Petri  et 
Andreae  Apostolorum,  ossa  Philippi  et  Jacobi  Apostolorum, 
dentem  et  digitum  Stephani  Martyris,  ossa  Catharinae  vir¬ 
ginis,  oleumque  de  sepulchro  ejus,  quod  ad  hanc  usque  diem 
inde  manare  fertur ;  crines  Beatae  Mariae  Magdalenae, 
dentem  divi  Benedicti,  digitum  sancti  Urbani,  labia  unius 
infantium  ab  Herode  occisorum,  ossa  beati  Clementis,  ossa 
divi  Vincentii.  Et  alia  plurima  nobis  monstrabantur,  quae 
hoc  loco  a  me  annotata  non  sunt. 

Cantuaria  digressi  per  noctem  substitimus  Rochesteriae, 
urbe  viginti  milliaribus  inde  distante.  Rochesteria  Lon- 
dinum,  viginti  quatuor  milliarium  itinere  confecto,  progress! 


312 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE 


sumus.  Ea  est,  urbs  arapla  et  magnifica,  arces  habet  duas. 
Earurn  alteram,  quae  in  extremo  urbis  sita,  sinu  maris 
alluitur,  Rex  Angliae  incolit  quem  ibi  offendimus.  file  sinus 
(Thamesis  fl.)  ponte  lapideo  longo,  super  quem  per  totam 
ejus  longitudinem  aedes  sunt  extructae,  sternitur.  Nullibi 
tantum  milvorum  numerum  vidi,  quam  ibi,  quos  laedere 
capitate  est. 

Londini  cum  essemus,  deducti  sumus  in  id  templum,  in 
quo  Divus  Thomas  natus  esse  fertur ;  ibi  matris  et  sororis 
ipsius  sepulchra  visuntur ;  deinde  et  in  alterum  ubi  S.  Keu- 
hardus  sepultus  est. 


(2)  Do  fuoren  wir  mit  grossem  ungewittur  in  ein  stat, 
heisst  Kanterburg. 

Meinem  herrn  und  andern  gesellen  thet  das  mer  so  we, 
das  sie  auf  dem  schiff  lagen,  als  wceren  sie  tot. 

Kanterburg  ist  in  Engallant  und  gehort  dem  kunig  von 
Engellant  zu.  Do  leit  der  lieb  herr  sant  Thomas.  In  der 
selben  stat  ist  gar  ein  kostlicher  sarch  im  munster,  wann  es 
ist  ein  bistum  da  und  gar  ein  hiibsche  kirchen.  Der  sarch, 
darinne  sant  Thomas  leit,  ist  das  geringst  daran  gold,  und 
ist  lang  und  weit,  das  ein  mitlein  person  darin  ligen  mag; 
aber  mit  perlein  und  edelgestein  so  ist  er  gar  seer  kostlich 
geziert,  das  man  meint,  das  kein  kostlicher  sarch  sey  in  der 
christenheit,  und  da  auch  so  gross  wunderzeichen  geschehen 
als  da. 

Item  zu  einen  zeiten,  da  het  sich  ein  kunig  von  Frankreich 
in  einem  veldstreit  dahin  gelobt ;  also  gesigt  der  kunig  seinen 
veinden  ob  und  kam  zu  dem  munster  und  zu  dem  heiligen 
herrn  sant  Thomas,  und  kniet  fur  den  sarch  und  sprach  sein 
gebet  und  het  einen  ring  an  seiner  hand,  darin  was  ser  ein 
kostlicher  stein.  Alsh  het  der  bischof  des  selben  munster 
Kanterburg  den  kunig  gebeten,  er  sol  den  ring  mitsamt  dem 
stein  an  den  sarch  geben.  Der  kunig  saget,  der  stein  wser 
im  zu  vast  lieb  und  hett  grossen  glauben  :  was  er  anfieng,  so 
er  den  ring  an  der  hand  hett,  das  jm  nit  mocht  mislingen. 


i 


TRAVELS  OF  THE  BOHEMIAN  EMBASSY”  313 


Aber  er  wolt  jm  an  den  sarch  geben,  domit  er  aber  desder 
basser  geziert  wurd,  hunderttausend  gulden.  Der  bischof 
was  ser  fro  und  dankt  dem  kunig.  Sobald  der  kunig  die  wort 
het  geredet  und  dem  bischof  den  ring  liet  versagt,  yon  stund 
an  springt  der  stein  auss  dem  ring  und  mitten  in  den  sarch 
als  hett  en  ein  goldschmid  hinein  gemacht.  Do  das  miracul 
der  kunig  sach,  do  bat  er  den  lieben  lierrn  sant  Thomas  und 
den  bischof,  das  er  jm  sein  siind  vergeb,  und  gab  darnach  den 
ring  und  etwan  vil  ob  hunderdt  tausend  gulden  an  den  sarch. 
Niemand  kan  gewissen  wass  stein  das  ist.  Er  hat  ser  einen 
hellen  liechten  schein  und  brinnt  als  ein  liecht,  das  kein 
gesicht  erleiden  mag,  jn  so  stark  anzushens,  domit  man  jm 
sein  varb  erkennen  mocht.  Man  meint,  das  er  an  seiner,  giiet 
so  kostlich  sey :  so  ein  kunig  von  Engellant  gefangen  wurd, 
so  mocht  man  jn  damit  losen ;  wann  er  sey  kostlicher,  dann 
das  ganz  Engelland.  Und  unter  dem  sarch  ist  die  stat,  do  der 
lieb  herr  sant  Thomas  enthaubtet  worden  ist,  und  ob  dem 
sarch  hecht  ein  grob  harein  hemd,  das  er  angetragen  hatt,  und 
auf  der  linken  seiten,  so  man  hinein  geet,  do  ist  einn  brunn, 
darauss  hat  sant  Thomas  altag  trunken.  Der  hat  sich  zu 
sant  Thomas  zeiten  funfmal  verwandelt  in  milch  und  blut. 
Darauss  trank  meinn  herr  Herr  Lew  und  all  sein  diener. 
Und  darnach  geet  man  in  ein  kleine  grufft  als  in  ein  cap- 
pellen,  da  man  sant  Thomas  gemartert  hat.  Da  zeiget  man 
uns  das  schwert,  damit  man  jm  den  kopf  abgeschlagen  hat. 
Da  weiset  man  auch  ein  merklich  stuck  des  heiligen  creuzes, 
auch  der  nagel  einen  und  den  rechten  arm  des  lieben  herrn 
Hitter  sant  Gorgen  und  etlich  dorn  in  einer  mostranzen  von 
der  diirnen  kron. 

Auss  der  cappellen  get  man  herfur  zu  einem  steinen  stul, 
da  ist  unser  Fra  wen  bild,  dasgar  oft  mit  sant  Thomas  geredet 
hat.  Das  selbig  bild  stet  iezunt  im  kor  und  hat  ser  von 
kostlichem  gestein  und  perlein  ein  kron  auf,  die  man  umb 
gross  gut  schatzt.  Da  sahen  wir  gar  kostlich  cantores 
meinem  herrn  zu  eren  ein  schons  salve  singen.  In  unser 
sprach  heisst  man  den  sant  Thomas  von  Kandelberg ;  aber 
er  heisst  sant  Thomas  von  Kanterburg. 


314  EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  “PELERINO  INGLESE.” 

NOTE  C. 

[The  following  extract  is  from  a  work  of  William  Thomas, 
Clerk  of  the  Privy  Council  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.,  who 
was  executed  in  the  reign  of  Mary,  for  an  alleged  share  in 
Wyatt’s  conspiracy.  Amongst  other  works  he  left  a  “  De¬ 
fence  of  King  Henry  VIII.,”  entitled  “  II  Pelerino  Inglese,” 
which  is  couched  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  with  some 
Italian  gentlemen,  who  ask  him  numerous  questions  as  to 
the  common  charges  against  the  king,  to  which  he  replies. 
The  work  is  in  the  Cotton  MSS.  in  the  British  Museum,  and 
has  since  been  published  by  Mr.  Froude,  under  the  title  of 
“  The  Pilgrim.”] 

THE  WELL  AND  THE  SHRINE  OF  BECKET. 

(See  pp.  272,  293.) 

Cotton  MS.,  Vespasian  D  xviii.  p.  61. 

“  ‘  These  wordes  were  marked  of  them  that  way  ted  on  the 
table,  in  such  wise  that  without  more  adoe,  iij  of  those 
gentylmen  waiters  considerated  together,  and  streyght  wayes 
toke  their  iourney  to  Canterbury,  where  tarrying  their  tyme, 
on  an  euening  fyndyng  this  Byshop  in  the  common  cloyster, 
after  they  had  asked  hym  certayne  questions,  whereunto  he 
most  arrogantly  made  answere,  they  slew  hym.  And  here 
began  the  holynes,  for  incontinently  as  these  gentylmen 
were  departed,  the  monkes  of  that  monastery  locked  up  the 
church  doores,  and  pers waded  the  people  that  the  bells  fell 
on  ryngyng  by  them  selves,  and  here  was  crying  of  “  miracles, 
miracles,”  so  earnestly  that  the  deuilish  monks,  to  nourish 
the  supersticion  of  this  new  martired  saynt,  having  the  place 
longe  tyme  seperate  unto  them  selves,  quia  propter  san- 
guinem  suspenduntur  sacra ,  corrupted  the  fresh  water  of  a 
well  thereby,  with  a  certayne  mixture ;  that  many  tymes  it 
appeared  bloudy,  which  they  perswaded  should  procede  by 
myracle  of  the  holy  marterdome  :  and  the  water  mervey- 
lously  cured  all  manner  of  infirmities,  insomuch  that  the 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  “  PELERINO  INGLESE.”  315 


ignoraunt  multitude  came  runnying  together  of  all  handes, 
specyally  after  the  false  miracles  were  confermed  by  the 
popes  canonisaciou,  which  folowed  within  a  few  yeres  after 
as  sone  as  the  Romayne  See  had  ratified  this  saintes  glory 
in  heaven :  yea,  and  more,  these  fayned  miracles  had  such 
credit  at  length,  that  the  poore  kinge  himselfe  was  per- 
swaded  to  beleve  them,  and  in  effect  came  in  person  to  visett 
the  holy  place  with  greate  repentaunce  of  his  passed  euil 
doyng,  and  for  satisfaction  of  his  synnes  gave  many  greate 
and  fayre  possessions  to  the  monasterye  of  the  foresayde 
religious :  and  thus  finally  was  this  holy  martir  sanctified 
on  all  handes.  Butt  the  kynges  maiestie  that  now  is  dead 
fyndyng  the  maner  of  the  saints  lyfe  to  agree  evil  with 
the  proportione  of  a  very  sainte,  and  merveylyng  at  the  ver- 
tue  of  this  water,  that  healed  all  infirmities,  as  the  blynde 
world  determined,  to  see  the  substanciall  profe  of  this  thinge, 
in  effect  found  these  miracles  to  be  utterly  false,  for  when 
supersticion  was  taken  away  from  the  ignoraunt  multitudes, 
then  ceassed  all  the  vertue  of  this  water,  which  now  re- 
mayneth  playne  water,  as  all  other  waters  do  :  so  that  the 
kyng  moved  of  necessitie,  could  no  lesse  do  then  deface  the 
shryne  that  was  author  of  so  much  ydolatry.  Whether 
the  doyng  thereof  hath  bene  the  undoyng  of  the  canonised 
saint,  or  not,  I  cannot  tell.  But  this  is  true,  that  his  bones 
are  spred  amongest  the  bones  of  so  many  dead  men,  that 
without  some  greate  miracle  they  wyll  not  be  found  agayne.’ 
‘  By  my  trouth 9  (sayde  one  of  the  gentylmen)  *  in  this  your 
kynge  dyd  as  I  wold  have  done.’  ‘What’  (quoth  myne 
adversary),  4  do  ye  credit  him  V  4  Within  a  litle,’  sayd  that 
other,  4  for  his  tale  is  sensible  :  and  I  have  knowen  of  the 
lyke  false  miracles  here  in  Italy e,  proved  before  my  face.’  ’ * 


316  THE  PILGRIMS’  WAY  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE. 


NOTE  D.  (See  p.  244.) 

THE  PILGRIMS’  WAY  OR  PATH  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE 
OF  ST.  THOMAS  OF  CANTERBURY. 

The  evidence  of  local  tradition  in  several  places  in  Surrey 
and  Kent  appears  to  favor  the  supposition  that  a  line  of 
road,  tracked  out  possibly  in  very  early  times,  even  before 
the  coming  of  the  Homans,  and  running  along  the  south 
flank  of  the  north  Downs,  which  traverse  Surrey  from  Farn- 
ham  westward  into  Kent,  and  thence  towards  Canterbury, 
had  been  subsequently  frequented  by  pilgrims  in  their  pro¬ 
gress  from  Southampton,  as  also  from  the  west  through 
Winchester,  to  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas.  It  has  been 
supposed,  with  much  probability,  that  Henry  II.,  when  he 
landed  at  Southampton,  July  8,  1174,  and ^  made  his  pil¬ 
grimage  to  Becket’s  tomb,  may  have  approached  Canterbury 
by  this  route. 

It  may  be  assumed  that  foreign  devotees  from  Brittany, 
Anjou,  the  western  parts  of  Normandy,  and  the  adjacent 
provinces  of  France  wTould  choose  the  more  convenient 
transit  from  the  mouth  of  the  Seine,  or  other  French  ports, 
to  the  ancient  haven  of  Hanton,  or  Southampton.  That 
place,  from  the  earliest  times,  w’as  greatly  frequented  on 
account  of  the  facilities  which  it  presented  to  commercial 
intercourse  with  the  continent,  and  its  vicinity  to  the 
ancient  capital  of  the  Heptarchy,  the  city  of  Winchester, 
where  our  earlier  sovereigns  constantly  resided.  This  course 
would  obviously  be  more  commodious  to  many,  who  were 
attracted  to  our  shores  by  the  important  ecclesiastical  estab¬ 
lishments  which  surrounded  the  Shrine  of  St.  Swithin  at 
Winchester,  and  still  more  by  the  extended  celebrity  of  the 
reliques  of  Saint  Thomas  ;  ^whilst  pilgrims  from  the  more 
northern  parts  of  France,  or  from  Flanders,  would  prefer 
the  more  frequented  passage  by  Seaford,  Dover,  or  Sandwich. 

On  leaving  Southampton,  the  pilgrims  —  unless  their 
course  lay  by  Winchester  —  would  probably  take  the  most 


THE  PILGRIMS’  WAY  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE.  317 


secure  and  direct  line  of  communication  towards  Farnham, 
crossing  the  Itchen  at  Stoneham,  and  thence  in  the  direction 
of  Bishop’s  Waltham,  Alton,  and  Froyle.  It  is,  however, 
by  no  means  evident  that  the  line  would  pass  through  those 
places ;  and  it  must  be  left  to  the  local  observation  of  those 
who  may  care  to  investigate  the  ancient  trackways  of  Hamp¬ 
shire,  whether  the  course  of  the  pilgrims  may  not  have 
passed  from  Southampton,  in  the  direction  of  Durley,  to 
Upham,  and  rather  north  of  Bishop’s  Waltham,  falling  into 
the  “  Salt  Lane  ”  (a  name  often  serving  to  indicate  the  trace 
of  an  early  line  of  communication),  and  so  either  by  Cheri- 
ton  and  Alresford,  or  by  Ropley  into  the  old  road  from  Win¬ 
chester  to  Farnham,  or  else  over  Milbarrow  and  Kilmison 
downs,  towards  Farnham.  Or  the  track  may  have  passed 
by  Beacon  Hill,  west  of  Warnford,  joining  the  present  road 
from  Fareham  to  Alton,  or  about  nine  miles  south  of  the 
latter.  Near  this  line  of  road,  moreover,  a  little  west  of  it, 
and  about  three  miles  from  Alton,  a  trace  of  the  course  of 
the  “  Pilgrims’  Path  ”  seems  to  be  found  in  the  name  of  a 
farm  or  dwelling  near  Rotherfield  Park  and  East  Tisted, 
still  known  as  “Pilgrims’  Place.” 

At  Farnham  the  abrupt  termination  of  the  Surrey  Downs 
presents  itself,  in  the  remarkable  ridge  known  as  the  “  Hog’s 
Back.”  Thence  there  are  two  communications  towards 
Guildford,  diverging  at  a  place  called  “  Whiteway’s  End,” 
one  being  the  main  turnpike-road  along  the  ridge,  the  other 
—  and  probably  the  more  ancient  —  running  under  that 
height  towards  the  tumulus  and  adjoining  eminence  south 
of  Guildford,  known  as  St.  Catharine’s  Hill,  where  it  seems 
to  have  crossed  the  river  Wey,  at  a  ferry  towards  Slialford. 
The  name  of  “  Conduit  Farm,”  near  this  line,  situate  on  the 
south  flank  of  the  Hog’s  Back,  may  possibly  be  worth  obser¬ 
vation.  East  ward  of  Guildford,  the  way  doubtless  proceeded 
along  the  flank  of  the  downs,  by  or  near  St.  Martha’s  Chapel, 
situate  on  a  remarkable  eminence,  insulated  from  the  ad¬ 
jacent  downs. 

One  6f  the  county  historians  gives  the  following  observa- 


318  THE  PILGRIMS’  WAY  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE. 


tion  under  Albury  :  “  The  ancient  path  called  the  Pilgrims’ 
Way,  which  led  from  the  city  of  Winchester  to  Canterbury, 
crosses  this  parish,  and  is  said  to  have  been  much  used  in 
former  times.”  1  From  Albury  the  line  of  the  way,  running 
east,  is  in  many  places  discernible  on  the  side  of  the  Surrey 
Downs,  sometimes  still  used  as  an  occupation  road,  or  bridle¬ 
way,  its  course  indicated  frequently  by  yew-trees  at  inter¬ 
vals,  which  are  to  be  seen  also  occasionally  left  standing  in 
the  arable  fields,  where  ancient  enclosures  have  been  thrown 
down  and  the  plough  has  effaced  every  other  vestige  of  this 
ancient  track.  The  line,  for  the  most  part,  it  would  seem, 
took  its  course  about  midway  down  the  hillside,  and  on  the 
northern  verge  of  the  older  cultivation  of  these  chalk-downs. 
The  course  of  the  way  would  doubtless  have  been  marked 
more  distinctly,  had  not  the  progress  of  modern  improve¬ 
ments  often  extended  the  line  of  cultivation  upwards,  and 
converted  from  time  to  time  further  portions  of  the  hillside 
into  arable  land.  Under  the  picturesque  height  of  Boxhill 
several  yews  of  large  size  remain  in  ploughed  land,  reliques 
no  doubt  of  this  ancient  way ;  and  a  row  more  or  less  con¬ 
tinuous  marks  its  progress  as  it  leads  towards  Reigate, 
passing  to  the  north  of  Brockham  and  Betchworth. 

It  may  be  worth  inquiry  whether  Reigate  (Saxon,  Rige- 
gate,  the  Ridge-road),  originally  called  Cherchefelle,  may 
not  have  received  its  later  name  from  its  proximity  to  such 
a  line  of  communication  east  and  west  along  the  downs, 
rather  than  from  the  supposed  ancient  ascent  northward,2 
over  the  ridge  to  Gatton,  and  so  towards  London. 

It  must  be  noticed,  in  connection  with  the  transit  of  pil¬ 
grims  along  the  way,  at  no  great  distance  north  of  Reigate 
towards  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas,  that  w’hen  they  descended 
to  that  little  town  to  seek  lodging  or  provisions,  they  there 
found  a  little  chapel  dedicated  to  the  saint,  midway  in  their 

1  Brayley’s  History  of  Surrey,  v.  168. 

2  This  supposition  has  been  sometimes  advanced.  (See  Manning  and 
Bray,  i.  271.)  It  is  there  conjectured  that  a  branch  of  the  Stone  Street 
turned  off  from  Ockley  by  Newdigate  to  Reigate,  and  so  over  the  Ridge. 


THE  PILGRIMS’  WAY  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE.  319 


journeying  from  Southampton  or  Winchester  towards  Canter¬ 
bury.  The  site  is  now  occupied  by  the  town-hall  or  court¬ 
house,  built  about  1708,  when  the  chapel  had  been  demol¬ 
ished.  In  1801,  when  an  enlargement  of  the  prison,  here 
used  at  Quarter  Sessions,  w7as  made,  some  portions  of  the 
foundations  of  this  Chapel  of  St.  Thomas  were  brought  to 
view.1 

Proceeding  eastward  from  Eeigate,  the  way  traversed  the 
parish  of  Merstham.  The  county  history  states  “  that  a 
lane  in  the  parish  retains  the  name  of  Pilgrims’  Lane.  It 
runs  in  the  direction  of  the  chalk-hills,  and  was  the  course 
taken  by  pilgrims  from  the  west,  who  resorted  (as  indeed 
from  all  parts)  to  Canterbury,  to  pay  their  devotions  at  the 
Shrine  of  St.  Thomas  a  Becket.  It  remains  perfect  in  Tit- 
sey,  a  parish  to  the  east  of  this.”  2 

The  way  may  have  proceeded  by  Barrow  Green,  and  the 
remarkable  tumulus  there  situated,  in  the  parish  of  Oxtead ; 
and  although  the  traces  are  obscure,  owing  to  the  progress 
of  cultivation  along  the  flank  of  the  downs,  positive  vesti¬ 
ges  of  the  line  occur  at  intervals.  Thus,  in  the  parish  of 
Tatsfield  the  county  historian  relates  that  Sir  John  Gresham 
built  his  new  house  “  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  near  the 
Pilgrim  Road  (so  called  from  the  Passage  of  pilgrims  to  the 
Shrine  of  Thomas  a  Becket,  at  Canterbury),  which  is  now 
perfect,  not  nine  feet  wide,  still  used  as  a  road.  It  com¬ 
mences  at  the  village  of  Titsey,  and  passes  on  close  to  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  through  this  parish  into  Kent.”  A  more 
recent  writer,  Brayley,  describing  this  Pilgrims’  Road  in  the 
parish  of  Tatsfield,  says  that  the  measurement  stated  to  be 
“  not  nine  feet  ”  is  incorrect.  “  It  is  in  fact  about  fifteen 
feet  in  width,  and  without  any  appearance  of  having  been 
widened.”  3  Mr.  Leveson  Gower,  of  Titsey  Place,  has  a  farm 
adjacent  to  it,  and  known  as  the  “  Pilgrimsway  Farm.”  At 
no  great  distance  from  the  course  of  the  way,  near  Titsey, 

1  Manning  and  Bray’s  History  of  Surrey,  i.  288,  289. 

2  Ibid.,  ii.  253  ;  Gentleman’s  Magazine,  xcvii.  ii.  414. 

3  Manning  and  Bray,  ii.  403  ;  Brayley’s  History,  iv.  198. 


320  THE  PILGRIMS’  WAY  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE. 


there  is  a  small  unenclosed  green  on  the  ridge  of  the  downs, 
bearing  the  designation  of  “Cold  Harbour,”  a  name  con¬ 
stantly  found  near  lines  of  ancient  road. 

Not  far  from  Tatsfield  the  Pilgrims’  Way  entered  the 
county  of  Kent,  and  its  course  appears  plainly  indicated 
towards  Che  veiling  Park.  From  thence  it  seems  to  have 
traversed  the  pastures  and  the  opening  in  the  hills,  serving 
as  a  passage  for  the  river  Darent ;  and  it  is  found  again 
skirting  the  chain  of  downs  beyond  for  several  miles,  rarely, 
if  ever,  passing  through  the  villages  or  hamlets,  but  pursuing 
a  solitary  course  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  more  or  less  to 
the  northward  of  them.  This  observation  applies  generally 
to  this  ancient  track.  It  is  to  be  traced  passing  thus  above 
Kemsing,  Wrotham,  Trottescliffe,  and  a  few  small  hamlets, 
till  it  approaches  the  Medway.  From  Otford  towards  the 
east  to  Hailing,  the  track  appears  to  be  well  known,  as  I  am 
informed  by  the  Rev.  W.  Pearson,  of  Canterbury,  as  “  the 
Pilgrims’  Road.”  He  describes  this  portion  as  a  narrow  way, 
much  like  an  ordinary  parish  road,  and  much  used  as  a  line 
of  direct  communication  along  the  side  of  the  downs.  The 
name  is  generally  recognized  in  that  part  of  the  county,  and 
the  tradition  is  that  pilgrims  used  in  old  times  to  ride 
along  that  road  towards  Canterbury.  In  the  maps  given  in 
Hasted’s  History  of  Kent,  this  line  is  marked  as  the  Pilgrims’ 
Road,  near  Otford,  as  also  near  Hailing.  Here,  doubtless, 
a  branch  of  the  original  ancient  track  proceeded  along  the 
high  ground  on  the  west  of  the  river  Medway,  towards 
Strood  and  the  Watling  Street.  This  might  have  been  in¬ 
deed,  it  were  reasonable  to  suppose,  the  more  convenient 
mode  of  pursuing  the  remainder  of  the  journey  to  Canter¬ 
bury.  It  is,  however,  more  probable  that  the  Pilgrims’  Way 
crossed  the  pastures  and  the  Medway,  either  at  Snodland  or 
Lower  Hailing,  and  regained  the  hills  on  the  opposite  side, 
along  the  flank  of  which  it  ran  as  before,  near  Kits  Coty 
House,  leaving  Boxley  Abbey  to  the  south  at  no  great  dis¬ 
tance,  and  slightly  diverging  towards  the  southeast,  by  Dept- 
ling,  Thurnham,  and  the  hamlet  of  Broad  Street,  progressed 


THE  PILGRIMS’  WAY  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE.  321 


past  Hollingbourn,  Harrietsham,  and  Lenham,  towards  Char¬ 
ing,1  where  the  lane  passing  about  half  a  mile  to  the  north 
of  that  place  is  still  known,  as  Mr.  Pearson  informs  me,  by 
the  name  of  the  Pilgrims’  Road.  The  remarkable  feature  of 
its  course  is  invariable,  since  it  does  not  pass  through  any 
of  these  places,  but  near  them ;  namely,  from  a  quarter  to 
half  a  mile  to  the  north  of  them. 

From  Charing  the  ancient  British  track  may  have  con¬ 
tinued  towards  the  sea  by  Wye,  near  another  “  Cold  Har¬ 
bour,”  situate  at  the  part  of  the  continuation  of  the  hilly 
chain,  east  of  Wye,  and  so  by  Stouting,  across  the  Roman 
Stone  Street,  to  the  coast.  The  pilgrims,  it  may  be  con¬ 
jectured,  directed  their  course  from  Charing  through  the 
woodland  district,  either  by  Chilham  and  along  the  north 
bank  of  the  river  Stour,  thus  approaching  Canterbury  by 
an  ancient  deep  road,  still  strikingly  marked  on  the  flank 
of  the  hill,  not  far  from  Harbledown.  Another  course  from 
Charing  may,  however,  have  been  taken  rather  more  north 
of  the  present  road  from  that  place  to  Canterbury ;  and  such 
a  line  may  be  traced  by  Snode  Street,  Beacon  Hill,  Stone 
Stile,  and  Fisher’s  Street,  —  names  indicative  of  an  ancient 
track,  and  so  by  Hatch  Green  and  Bigberry  Wrood,  straight 
into  the  deep  way  already  mentioned,  at  Harbledown,  which 
falls  nearly  in  a  straight  line  with  the  last  half-mile  of  the  great 
road  from  London  entering  into  Canterbury  at  St.  Dunstan’s 
Church.  It  must,  however,  be  remarked,  that  the  hillside 
lane  proceeds  in  a  direct  line  towards  the  southeast  beyond 
Charing ;  and  although  it  presented  a  more  circuitous  course 
towards  Canterbury,  it  may,  especially  in  earlier  times,  have 
been  frequented  in  preference  to  any  shorter  path  across  the 
woodland  district.  The  line  indeed  is  distinct,  passing  north 
of  West  well  and  Eastwell;  and  I  am  here  again  indebted  to 
the  local  knowledge  of  my  obliging  informant,  the  Rev.  W. 
Pearson,  who  states  that  an  ancient  track,  still  known  as  the 

1  At  Charing  a  remarkable  relique  was  shown,  —  the  block  on  which 
John  the  Baptist  was  beheaded.  It  was  brought  to  England  by  Richard  I. 
(Philipot,  p.  100.) 


21 


322  THE  PILGRIMS'  WAY  TOWARDS  THE  SHRINE. 


Pilgrims’  Road,  exists,  running  above  the  Ashford  and  Can¬ 
terbury  turnpike-road  —  and  parallel  with  it.  It  is  a  bridle¬ 
way,  taking  its  course  near  the  villages  of  Houghton  Alph 
and  Godmersham,  towards  Canterbury. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  frequent  vestiges  of  the 
“  Pilgrims’  Path  ”  might  be  traced  by  actual  examination 
of  the  localities  along  the  course  here  tracked  out,  chiefly 
by  aid  of  the  Ordnance  Survey.  The  careful  investigation  of 
this  remarkable  ancient  track  might  throw  light  upon  the 
earlier  occupation  of  the  southeastern  parts  of  England ; 
although  there  are  no  indications  of  its  having  been  formed 
by  the  Romans,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  was  used  by 
them,  as  evinced  by  numerous  vestiges  of  villas  and  other 
remains  of  the  Roman  age  near  its  course.  It  is  difficult  to 
explain  the  preference  shown,  as  it  would  appear,  by  the 
pilgrims  of  later  times  for  a  route  which  avoided  the  towns, 
villages,  and  more  populous  districts,  whilst  a  road  for  the 
most  part  is  found  at  no  great  distance,  pursuing  its  course 
through  them  parallel  to  that  of  the  secluded  Pilgrims’  Path. 
Our  thoughts  naturally  recur  to  times  of  less  favored  social 
conditions  than  our  own,  —  times  of  misrule  or  distrust, 
when,  to  repeat  an  apposite  passage  of  Holy  Writ  cited  in  a 
former  part  of  this  volume,  as  “  in  the  days  of  Shamgar, 
the  son  of  Anath,  in  the  days  of  Jael,  the  highways  were 
unoccupied,  and  the  travellers  walked  through  byways.”1 

It  may  be  here  observed  that  the  principal  route  to  Wal- 
singham,  by  Newmarket,  Brandon,  and  Fakenham,  was 
known  as  the  “  Palmers’  Way,”  or  “  Walsingham  Green 
Way.” 

A.  W. 


Judges  v.  6. 


PILGRIMAGE  OF  JOHN  OF  FRANCE. 


323 


NOTE  E. 

VISIT  OF  JOHN,  KING  OF  FRANCE,  TO  THE  SHRINE  OF 
ST.  THOMAS  IN  1360.  (See  pp.  164,  276.) 

Ox  two  memorable  occasions  was  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas 
visited  by  a  King  of  France, — the  first  being  the  solemn 
pilgrimage  made  in  1179  by  Louis  VII.,  to  whom,  according 
to  the  relation  of  Brompton,  the  saint  had  thrice  appeared 
in  a  vision.  No  French  king  previous  to  that  time,  as  is 
observed  by  a  contemporary  chronicler,  had  set  foot  on  Eng¬ 
lish  ground.  The  king  came  in  the  habit  of  a  pilgrim  • 
amongst  his  rich  oblations  were  the  celebrated  gem,  the 
lapis  regalis ,  and  the  grant  to  the  convent  of  a  hundred 
modii  of  wine,  forever.  We  are  indebted  to  the  Historical 
Society  of  France  for  the  publication  of  certain  particulars 
regarding  another  royal  visit  to  Canterbury  ;  namely,  that 
made  by  John,  King  of  France,  on  his  return  from  captivity 
in  England,  after  the  Treaty  of  Bretigny.  John,  with  Philip, 
his  youngest  son,  had  been  taken  prisoners  at  the  field  of 
Poitiers,  Sept.  20,  1356  ;  and  they  were  brought  to  England 
by  the  Black  Prince,  in  May  following.  Their  route  to  Lon¬ 
don  lay,  according  to  the  relation  of  Froissart,  by  Canter¬ 
bury  and  Rochester ;  and  he  states  that  the  captives  rested 
for  a  day  to  make  their  offerings  to  Saint  Thomas. 

The  document  which  has  supplied  the  following  particu¬ 
lars  of  the  visit  on  their  quitting  England  is  the  account  by 
the  king’s  chaplain  and  notary  of  the  expenditure  during 
the  last  year  of  his  captivity,  from  July  1,  1359,  to  July  8, 
1360,  when  John  landed  at  Calais.1 

On  the  last  day  of  June,  1360,  John  took  his  departure 
from  the  Tower  of  London,  and  proceeded  to  Eltham  Palace, 

1  Comptes  de  l’Argenterie  des  Rois  de  France  au  XI Ve  siecle,  edited  by 
L.  Douet-d’Arcq  for  the  Soctetd  de  l’Histoire  de  France.  Paris,  1851.  The 
Journal  of  King  John’s  expenses  in  England  commences  at  page  194,  and 
it  is  followed  by  an  Itinerary  of  the  king’s  captivity  in  England  (pp.  278- 
284).  This  curious  Journal  is  preserved  in  the  Imperial  Library  at  Paris. 


324 


PILGRIMAGE  OF  JOHN  OF  FRANCE. 


where  a  grand  farewell  entertainment  had  been  prepared  by- 
Queen  Philippa;  on  the  next  day,  July  1,  after  dinner  the 
king  took  his  leave,  and  passed  the  night  at  Dartford.  It 
may  suffice  to  observe  that  five  days  were  occupied  in  his 
journey  to  Canterbury,  where  he  arrived  on  July  4,  re¬ 
maining  one  night,  and  proceeded  on  the  following  day, 
being  Sunday,  to  Dover.  The  journal  records  the  frequent 
offerings  and  alms  dispensed  liberally  by  the  king  at  various 
places  along  his  route  from  Eltham,  — to  the  friars  at  Dart- 
ford  ;  the  master  and  brothers  of  the  Ostel  Dieu,  at  Ospring, 
where  he  lodged  for  the  night ;  to  four  maladeries ,  or  hos¬ 
pitals  for  lepers ;  and  to  “  Messire  Richard  Lexden,  chevalier 
anglois  qui  est  hermite  lez  Stiborne  ”  (Sittingbourne).  The 
knightly  anchorite  received  no  less  than  twenty  nobles,  val¬ 
ued  at  £6  13s.  4 d.  As  John  passed  Harbledown,  ten  escuz, 
or  23s.  4 d.,  were  given  by  the  king’s  command  as  alms  to  the 
“nonains  de  Helbadonne  lez  Cantorberie.” 

The  following  entries  record  the  offerings  of  the  king  and 
of  Philip,  his  son,  afterwards  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  compan¬ 
ion  of  his  captivity  :  “  Le  Roy,  offerande  faicte  par  li  en  3 
lieux  de  l’eglise  de  S.  Thomas  de  Cantorberie,  sans  les  joy- 
aux  qu’ily  donna,  10  nobles,  valent  £33  6s.  8 d.  Monseigneur 
Philippe,  pour  samblable,  en  ce  lieu,  16  royaux,  3s.  piece.”1 
The  three  places  at  which  the  king’s  offerings  were  made 
may  probably  have  been  the  shrine,  the  altar  ad  punctum 
ensis  in  the  Martyrdom,  and  the  head  of  the  saint,  described 
by  Erasmus  as  shown  in  the  crypt.2  The  jewels  presented 
by  John  on  this  occasion  are  not  described  ;  but  they  were 
probably  of  a  costly  character,  since  his  offering  in  money 

1  Journal  de  la  depense  du  Roi  Jean,  p.  272. 

2  In  the  Household  Accounts  of  25,  26  Edward  III.,  the  oblations  of 
Queen  Philippa  are  thus  recorded:  “At  the  shrine,  40s.;  at  the  punctum 
ensis,  5s.;  and  in  alms,  12 d."  Edmund  of  Woodstock  offered  at  the  same 
time  12c?.  at  the  shrine ;  the  like  amount  at  the  image  of  the  Virgin  in  the 
crypt  ( in  volta ),  at  the  punctum  ensis,  and  at  the  head  of  Saint  Thomas. 
(Battely,  p.  20.)  Edward  I.  appears  to  have  presented  annually  a  firmaculum 
of  gold,  value  £5,  at  the  shrine  and  at  the  image  of  the  Virgin  in  vouta ;  and 
ornaments  of  the  same  value  were  offered  in  the  name  of  his  queen  and  of 
Prince  Edward.  (Liber  Garderobe  Edw.  I.) 


PILGRIMAGE  OF  JOHN  OF  FRANCE. 


amounted  only  to  ten  nobles,  whereas  at  St.  Augustine’s, 
where  he  heard  Mass  on  the  Sunday  morning  before  his 
departure  for  the  coast,  his  offering  was  seventy-live  nobles.1 
These  joyaux  may  have  been  precious  objects  of  ornament 
which  the  king  had  about  his  person  at  the  moment,  and 
they  were  accordingly  not  entered  by  the  chaplain  amongst 
current  expenses.  The  offerings  at  the  shrine  were  usually, 
it  is  well  known,  rings,  brooches  or  fir  macula,  and  the  like. 
The  precious  Regale  of  France  appears  to  have  actually  been 
worn  by  Louis  VII.  at  the  time  of  his  pilgrimage,  when  he 
offered  that  jewel  to  the  saint. 

On  the  5th  of  July,  John  reached  Dover,  and  took  up  his 
lodging  with  the  brothers  of  the  Maison  Dieu,  where  travel¬ 
lers  and  pilgrims  were  constantly  entertained.  On  the  mor¬ 
row  he  dined  with  the  Prince  of  Wales  at  the  Castle,  and  set 
sail  for  Calais  after  dinner  on  the  following  day  (July  6) 
with  the  shipping  provided  by  Edward  III.  for  his  accom¬ 
modation.  He  made  an  offering  to  Saint  Nicholas  for  the 
vessel  in  which  he  crossed  the  Channel,  and  reached  Calais 
safely  on  July  8.  Edward  sent  as  a  parting  gift  to  his 
royal  captive  a  chess-board  (“j.  instrument  appelle  l’esche- 
quier”),  which  must  have  been  of  considerable  value,  since 
twenty  nobles  were  given  to  the  maker,  who  brought  it  to 
the  king.  He  presented  also  a  more  appropriate  gift,  —  the 
gobelet  in  which  he  was  accustomed  to  drink,  —  in  return  for 
which  John  sent  “  le  propre  henap  a  quoy  il  buvoit,  qui  fu 
monseigneur  St.  Loys.”  2 

A.  W. 

1  The  alms  of  the  King  of  France  were  distributed  with  no  niggardly 
hand  on  this  occasion.  To  the  Friars  preachers  in  Canterbury  he  gave  twenty 
nobles,  as  also  to  the  Cordeliers  and  the  Augustinians,  and  smaller  sums  to 
the  nonains  of  Northgate  and  of  St.  Augustine,  the  women  of  the  Hospital 
of  our  Lady,  etc.  (Journal,  p.  273.) 

2  Ducange,  in  his  notes  on  Joinville,  mentions  this  cup  of  gold  which 
had  been  used  by  Saint  Louis,  and  was  preserved  as  a  sacred  relique  ;  and 
for  a  long  time  it  was  not  used,  through  respect  to  the  saint.  It  is  described 
in  the  time  of  Louis  X.,  as  “  la  coupe  d’or  S.  Loys,  ou  Ton  ne  boit  point.” 


326  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


NOTE  F. 

DOCUMENTS  PRESERVED  AMONGST  THE  RECORDS  IN 
THE  TREASURY  AT  CANTERBURY. 

1. — Grant  of  the  Manor  of  Doccombe  by  William  de  Tracy. 

(See  p.  130.) 

Amongst  the  possessions  of  the  monastery  of  Christ 
Church,  Canterbury,  enumerated  in  the  list  of  the  “  Dona- 
tiones  Maneriorum  et  Ecclesiarum,”  published  by  Somner, 
and  given  in  the  Monasticon,  the  grant  of  Doccombe  is  re¬ 
corded:1  “Willielmus  Tracy  dedit  Doccombe  tempore  Hen- 
rici  secundi,  idem  domum  confirmantis.”  The  manor  of 
Doccombe,  Daccombe,  or  Dockham,  in  the  parish  of  Moreton 
Hampstead,  Devonshire,  still  forms  part  of  the  possessions 
of  the  church  of  Canterbury. 

The  grant  by  William  de  Tracy  has  not,  as  far  as  I  can 
ascertain,  been  printed ;  nor,  with  the  exception  of  a  note 
appended  to  Lord  Lyttelton’s  “  Life  of  Henry  II.,”  have  I 
found  mention  of  the  existence  of  such  a  document,  with 
the  seal  described  as  that  of  Tracy  appended,  preserved  in 
the  Treasury  at  Canterbury.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  granter  was  the  identical  William  de  Tracy  who  took  so 
prominent  a  part  in  the  murder  of  Thomas  a  Becket.  Lord 
Lyttelton  supposed  that  it  might  be  his  grandson.2  The 
document  is  not  dated ;  but  there  is  evidence  that  the  grant 
was  made  within  a  short  period  after  that  event,  which  took 
place  on  Dec.  29,  1170. 

The  confirmation  by  Henry  II.  of  Tracy’s  grant  at  Doc¬ 
combe  is  tested  at  Westminster,  the  regnal  year  not  being 
stated.  Amongst  the  witnesses,  however,  occur  “  R.  Electo 
Winton,  R.  Electo  Hereford,  Johanne  Decano  Sarum.” 

1  Somner’s  Antiquities  of  Canterbury,  Appendix,  p.  40;  Monast.  Angl., 
Caley’s  edition,  i.  98.  In  the  Valor,  26  Hen.  VIII.,  the  manor  of  Doc¬ 
combe,  part  of  the  possessions  of  Christ  Church,  is  valued  at  £Q  6s.  8 d. 
per  annum. 

2  Lord  Lyttelton’s  Life  of  Henry  II.,  iv.  284. 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  327 


Richard  Toelive  was  elected  Bishop  of  Winchester,  May  1, 
1173;  confirmed  and  consecrated  in  October,  1174.  Rob¬ 
ert  Foliot  was  elected  Bishop  of  Hereford  in  1173,  and 
consecrated  in  October,  1174.  John  de  Oxeneford  was 
Dean  of  Sarum  from  1165  until  he  was  raised  to  the  See 
of  Norwich  in  1175.  It  was  only  on  July  8,  1174,  that 
Henry  II.  returned  to  England  after  a  lengthened  absence 
amongst  his  French  possessions  :  he  crossed  to  Southampton, 
and  forthwith  proceeded  to  Canterbury,  to  perform  his  mem¬ 
orable  humiliation  at  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas.  The  date 
of  his  confirmation  of  Tracy’s  gift  is  thus  ascertained  to  be 
between  July  and  October,  1174,  and  probably  immediately 
on  the  king’s  arrival  at  Westminster  after  his  pilgrimage 
to  Canterbury.1 

Tracy’s  gift  had  moreover,  as  it  appears,  been  regarded 
by  the  monks  of  Christ  Church  as  an  oblation  to  make  some 
amends  for  his  crime.  In  one  of  the  registers  of  the  monas¬ 
tery  a  transcript  of  a  letter  has  been  preserved,  addressed 
by  Prior  Henry  de  Estria  to  Hugh  de  Courtenay.2  It  bears 
date  July  4,  1322,  and  reminds  Sir  Hugh  —  doubtless  the 
second  baron  of  Okehampton  of  that  name,  and  subsequently 
created  Earl  of  Devon  by  Edward  III.  —  that  the  charter  of 
William  de  Tracy,  with  the  confirmation  by  Henry  II.,  had 
been  shown  to  him  as  evidence  regarding  “  la  petite  terre  qe 
le  dit  ^William  dona  a  nostre  esglise  et  a  nous  a  Dockumbe, 
en  pure  et  perpetuele  almoigne,  pur  la  mort  Saint  Thomas.” 
The  Prior  requests  accordingly  his  orders  to  his  “  ministres  ” 
at  that  place  to  leave  the  tenants  of  the  monastery  in  peace¬ 
able  possession. 

Original  Charter ,  Canterbury  Treasury ,  D.  20. 

Willelmus  de  Traci  omnibus  hominibus  suis  tam  Francis 
quam  Anglis,  et  amicis,  et  ballivis,  et  ministris,  et  omnibus 
ad  quos  littere  iste  pervenerint,  Salutem.  Dono  et  concedo 

1  This  confirmation  by  Henry  II.  may  be  found  in  the  Registers,  2,  fol. 
400,  and  8,  fol.  26,  verso. 

2  Register  K,  12,  fol.  129,  verso. 


328  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


Capitula  Cantuar’  pro  amore  dei  et  salute  anime  mee,  pre- 
decessorum  meorum,  et  amore  beati  Thome  Archipresulis 
et  Martiris  memorie  venerande,  in  puram  et  perpetuam 
elemosinam,  Centum  solidatas  terre  in  Mortuna,  scilicet 
Documbam  cum  pertinentiis  et  cum  terris  affinioribus,  ita 
quod  ex  Documba  et  aliis  terris  proximis  perficiantur  centum 
ille  solidate  terre.  Hoc  autem  dono  ad  monachum  unum- 
vestiendum  et  pascendum  omnibus  diebus  secul’ 1  in  domo 
ilia,  qui  ibi  divina  celebret  pro  salute  vivorum  et  requie  de- 
functorum.  Ut  hoc  autem  firmum  sit  et  ratum  et  inconcus- 
sum  et  stabile  sigilli  mei  munimine  et  Carta  mea  confirmo. 
His  testibus,  Abbate  de  Eufemia,  Magistro  Radulfo  de 
Hospitali,  Pagano  de  TiriT,  Willelmo  clerico,  Stephano  de 
Pirforde,  Pagano  de  Acforde,2  Rogero  Anglico,  Godefrido 
Ribaldo  et  aliis. 

To  this  document  is  appended  a  seal  of  white  wax,  the 
form  pointed  oval,  the  design  rudely  executed,  representing 
a  female  figure  with  very  long  sleeves  reaching  nearly  to 
her  feet.  Some  traces  of  letters  may  be  discerned  around 
the  margin  of  the  seal,  but  too  much  worn  away  to  be  deci¬ 
phered.  It  must  be  observed  that  notwithstanding  the  ex¬ 
pression  “  sigilli  mei  munimine, ’’  it  can  scarcely  be  supposed 
that  this  seal  was  actually  that  customarily  used  by  Tracy. 
The  pointed  oval  form  was  almost  exclusively  appropriated 
to  seals  of  ladies,  ecclesiastics,  and  conventual  establish¬ 
ments.  The  figure  ci  manches  mal  tallies  is  a  device  seem¬ 
ingly  most  inappropriate  to  the  knightly  Tracy.  It  is 
probable,  and  not  inconsistent  with  the  ancient  practice 
of  sealing,  that  having  no  seal  of  his  own  at  hand,  he  had 
borrowed  one  for  the  occasion.  The  first  of  the  witnesses 
is  described  as  the  Abbot  of  Eufemia.3  This  may  have  been 

1  Probably,  seculi ,  forever;  in  place  of  the  ordinary  phrase  imperpetuum. 

2  Probably  one  of  the  family  of  Payne,  which  gave  to  the  village  of  Ack- 
ford  in  Dorsetshire  the  name  of  “  Ackford  (or  “Okeford”)  Fitz-Pain.” 
(Hutchins’s  Dorsetshire,  iii.  351.) 

3  The  conjecture  seems  not  altogether  inadmissible,  that  this  seal  may 
have  been  that  of  the  Abbot,  or  of  some  member  of  the  congregation  of  St. 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  329 


the  monastery  of  some  note  on  the  western  shores  of  the 
Calabria,  near  the  town  and  gulf  of  Sta.  Eufemia,  and  about 
sixty  miles  north  of  the  Straits  of  Messina.  It  is  remarka¬ 
ble  that  this  place  is  not  far  distant  from  Cosenza,  where, 
according  to  one  dreadful  tale  of  the  fate  of  Becket’s  mur¬ 
derers,  Tracy,  having  been  sentenced  with  his  accomplices, 
by  Pope  Alexander  III.,  to  expiate  their  crime  in  the  Holy 
Land,  had  miserably  died  on  his  way  thither,  after  confession 
to  the  bishop  of  the  place.1 

In  regard  to  the  other  witnesses,  I  can  only  observe  that 
Roger  de  Acford  occurs  in  the  Red  Book  of  the  Exchequer, 
as  holding  part  of  a  knight’s  fee  in  the  Honor  of  Barnstaple 
under  William  Tracy.  Payn  may  have  been  his  son  or 
kinsman.  Pirforde  may  have  been  the  place  now  known 
as  Parford,  near  Moreton  Hampstead.  The  correct  reading 
of  the  name  de  Tim ’  may  possibly  be  Tirun.  The  family 
de  Turonibus,  settled  in  early  times  at  Dartington,  Devon, 
were  connected  by  marriage  with  the  Tracys. 

The  fact  that  Tracy  actually  set  forth  on  pilgrimage  to 
the  Holy  Land,  which  some  have  seemed  to  question,  is 
proved  by  the  following  curious  letter  in  one  of  the  Canter¬ 
bury  Registers  :  — 

Qualiter  Amicia  uxor  WTllelmi  Thaun  post  mortem  viri  sui 

terram  quam  vir  ejus  dedit  Sancto  Thome  ipsa  postea  dedit. 

Register  in  the  Canterbury  Treasury ,  2,  fol.  400. 

Yiro  venerabili  et  amico  in  Christo,  carissimo  domino 
Johanni  filio  Galfridi,  Anselmus  Crassus  Thesaurarius  Exo- 
niensis 2  salutem  et  paratam  ad  obsequia  cum  devocione  vo- 
luntatem.  Hover  it  quod  quadam  die,  cum  dominam  Ami- 

Eufemia;  and  that  the  figure  may  have  represented  the  Virgin  Martyr 
of  Chalcedon,  a  saint  greatly  venerated  in  the  Eastern  Church.  The  re- 
liques  of  Saint  Eufemia  were  transferred  into  the  Church  of  St.  Sophia  at 
Constantinople. 

1  Cosenza  is  situated  about  eighteen  miles  north  of  Sta.  Eufemia. 

2  Anselm  Crassus,  or  Le  Gros,  was  treasurer  of  Exeter  in  1205,  and  in 
1230  was  made  Bishop  of  St.  David’s.  (Le  Neve’s  Fasti,  ed.  by  Hardy, 
i.  414.) 


330  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


ciam  de  la  More  mortuo  viro  suo  Everardo  Chole  in  manerio 
de  Moreth’ 1  visitassimus,  dixit  nobis  quod  quidam  nomine 
Willelmus  Thaun  vir  ejus  qui  earn  duxit  in  uxorem,  cum  iter 
arriperet  cum  domino  suo  Willelmo  de  Traci  versus  terram 
sanctam,  earn  fecit  jurare  tactis  sacrosanctis  quod  totam 
terram  ipsius  cum  pertinentiis  suis,  quam  dominus  ejus 
Willelmus  de  Trac}^  ipsi  Willelmo  Thaun  dedit  pro  homagio 
et  servicio  suo,  beato  Thome  Martiri  et  Conventui  ecclesie 
Christi  Cantuariensis  assignaret  in  perpetuum  possidendam  : 
defuncto  autem  predicto  Willelmo  Thaun  in  peregrinacione 
terre  sancte  eadem  Amicia  alium  virum  accepit,  videlicet 
Everarddum  Chole,  per  quern  impedita  voluntatem  et  votum 
primi  viri  sui  Willelmi  Thaun  minime  complevit.  Yolens 
autem  dicta  Amicia  saluti  anime  sue  providere  in  manum 
nostram  totam  terram  Willelmi  Thaun  resignavit,  et  Con- 
ventum  Ecclesie  Christi  Cantuariensis  per  nos  pilliolo  suo 
seisiavit.  Nos  vero,  conventus  dicte  ecclesie  utilitati  secun¬ 
dum  testamentum  dicti  Willelmi  Thaun  solicite  providere 
curantes,  seisinam  dicte  terre  loco  ipsius  Conventus  Cantu¬ 
ariensis  benigne  admisimus,  et  ejusdem  terre  instrumenta 
omnia  a  dicta  Amicia  nobis  commissa  eidem  Conventui  Can- 
tuariensi  restituimus.  In  cujus  rei  testimonium  fieri  fecimus 
presentes  literas  et  sigillo  nostro  sigillari. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  ascertain  who  was  the  “  Dominus 
Johannes  filius  Galfridi”  to  whom  the  Treasurer  of  Exeter 
addressed  this  communication.  If  the  supposition  be  cor¬ 
rect  that  the  transaction  relates  to  certain  lands  in  the  par¬ 
ish  of  Morthoe,  where  the  Tracys  had  considerable  property, 
and  where  William  de  Tracy  is  supposed  to  have  resided,  at 
Wollacombe  Tracy,  the  presence  of  the  Treasurer  of  Exeter 

1  Perhaps  Morthoe,  where  the  Tracys  had  estates  and  their  residence. 
The  word  seems  to  he  written  “  Morech’;”  but  the  letter  ^  is  often  so  formed 
as  to  be  scarcely  distinguishable  from  a  c.  In  Lyson’s  Devonshire,  a  barton, 
named  More,  is  mentioned  in  the  parish  of  Moreton  Hampstead.  It  does 
not  appear  that  the  manor  of  Morthoe  belonged  to  the  Tracys.  The 
manor  of  Daccombe  had  the  custom  of  prebend,  and  the  lord  of  the  manor 
is  obliged  to  keep  a  cucking-stool,  for  the  punishment  of  scolding  women. 
(Lyson’s  Devonshire. ) 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  331 


and  his  visit  to  the  lady  Amicia  de  la  More  are  in  some 
measure  explained,  since  the  advovvson  of  Morthoe  was  part 
of  the  possessions  of  the  church  of  Exeter.  Amicia  de  la 
More,  as  it  appears,  was  the  wTife  of  a  certain  William 
Thaun,  who  held  land  under  William  de  Tracy,  and  had 
gone  with  him  to  the  Holy  Land.1  Before  his  departure, 
however,  Thaun  had  caused  his  wife  to  swear  upon  the  Gos¬ 
pels,  foreseeing  doubtless  the  uncertainty  of  his  return,  that 
she  would  duly  assign  over  to  Saint  Thomas  and  the  Convent 
of  Christ  Church  the  land  above  mentioned.  On  his  decease 
in  the  course  of  his  journey,  Amicia  espoused  Everard  Chole, 
by  whose  persuasion  she  neglected  to  fulfil  her  oath  and  the 
will  of  her  deceased  husband.  On  Everard’s  death,  however, 
it  appears  that  she  was  seized  with  remorse,  and  took  the 
occasion  of  the  Treasurer’s  visit  to  make  full  confession,  and 
to  resign  into  his  hands  the  land  held  by  William  Thaun, 
giving  the  Convent  of  Christ  Church  seisin  in  the  person  of 
the  Treasurer,  by  delivery  of  her  cap  ( piUiolum ),  being  the 
object  probably  most  conveniently  at  hand.  By  the  foregoing 
letters  under  his  seal,  Anselm  Crassus  acknowledges  seisin 
of  the  land  for  the  use  of  the  Convent  of  Canterbury,  and 
restores  to  them  all  instrumenta  or  documents  of  titles  in¬ 
trusted  to  him  on  their  behalf. 

II.  —  The  “Corona  beati  Thome.”  (See  p.  265.) 

In  searching  the  ancient  accounts  for  any  evidence  regard¬ 
ing  the  shrine,  or  those  parts  of  the  Church  of  Canterbury 
where  the  reliques  of  the  saint  were  chiefly  venerated,  a  few 
particulars  have  been  noticed  which  suggest  the  reconsider¬ 
ation  of  the  origin  and  true  significance  of  the  term  Corona , 
“  Becket’s  Crown,”  as  applied  to  the  round  chapel  and  tower 
terminating  the  eastern  part  of  the  church. 

It  had  been  concluded  by  several  writers  that  this  part  of 

1  Sir  W.  Pole  gives  “  More,  of  de  la  More  ”  in  his  Alphabet  of  Arms 
of  the  old  Devonshire  Gentry.  The  ancient  family  of  De  la  Moore,  named 
in  later  times  at  Moore,  had  their  dwelling  at  Morehays,  in  the  parish  of 
Columpton.  (Pole’s  Collections,  p.  186.) 


332  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


the  fabric,  the  construction  of  which  commenced,  as  we  learn 
from  Gervase,  in  1180,  had  received  this  designation  from 
the  circumstance  that  the  head  of  the  saint  had  been  placed 
there,  eastward  of  his  shrine.  Matthew  Parker,  in  his  “  An- 
tiquitates  Britannicae  Ecclesise,”  at  the  close  of  his  Life  of 
Becket,  observes  that  at  first  Saint  Thomas  was  placed  less 
ostentatiously  in  the  crypt :  “  Deinde  sublimiori  et  excelso 
ac  sumptuoso  delubro  conditus  fuerit,  in  quo  caput  ejus 
seorsim  a  cadavere  situm,  Thomae  Martyris  Corona  appella- 
batur,  ad  quod  peregrinantes  undique  confluerent,  munera- 
que  preciosa  deterrent,”  etc.  Battely,  Gostling,  Ducarel, 
and  Dart  speak  of  “Becket’s  Crown,”  and  appear  to  have 
connected  the  name  with  the  supposed  depository  of  the 
head  of  the  saint,  or  of  the  portion  of  the  skull  cut  off  by 
the  murderers.1 

Professor  Willis,  whose  authority  must  be  regarded  with 
the  greatest  respect,  rejects  this  supposition.  “  The  no¬ 
tion,”  he  remarks,  “  that  this  round  chapel  was  called  Beck¬ 
et’s  Crown,  because  part  of  his  skull  was  preserved  here  as 
a  relic,  appears  wholly  untenable.”  He  considers  the  term 
corona  as  signifying  the  principal  apse  of  a  church,  referring 
to  a  document  relating  to  the  Church  of  La  Charite  on  the 
Loire,  in  which  the  Corona  Ecclesie  is  mentioned.2  Mr.  John 

1  Gostling  observes  (p.  123):  “  At  the  east  end  of  the  chapel  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,  another  very  handsome  one  was  added,  called  Becket’s  Crown; 
some  suppose  from  its  figure  being  circular  and  the  ribs  of  the  arched  roof 
meeting  in  a  centre,  as  those  of  the  crown  royal  do;  others  on  account  of 
part  of  his  skull  being  preserved  here  as  a  relic.” 

2  Architectural  History  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  p.  56,  note.  The 

learned  professor  observes  that,  “at  all  events,  it  was  a  general  term,  and  not 
peculiar  to  the  Church  of  Canterbury.”  He  cites,  however,  no  other  evi¬ 
dence  of  its  use,  except  that  above  mentioned,  given  amongst  the  additions 
made  by  the  Benedictines  to  Ducange’s  Glossary.  “  Corona  Ecclesice. ,  f. 
Pars  Templi  choro  postica,  quod  ea  pars  fere  desinat  in  circulum.  Charta 
anni  1170,  in  Tabulario  B.  Marise  de  Charitate :  Duo  altaria  in  Corona 
Ecclesice .”  “  The  Corona  may  also  mean  the  aisle  which  often  circum¬ 

scribes  the  east  end  of  an  apsidal  church,  and  which  with  its  radiating 
chapels  may  be  said  to  crown  its  eastern  extremity  ”  (p.  141).  It  is  said 
that  the  eastern  apse  represents  the  glory,  or  “  nimbus,”  at  the  head  of  the 
crucifix,  as  the  cruciform  shape  of  the  rest  of  the  cathedral  represents  the 
cross.  [But  see  the  passage  from  Eadmer  quoted  on  p.  336.  —  A.  P.  S.] 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  333 


Gough  Nichols  has  likewise  sought  to  refute  as  a  “  popular 
error,  into  which  many  writers  have  fallen,”  the  misconcep¬ 
tion,  which  was  as  old,  he  remarks,  as  Archbishop  Parker, 
that  the  head  of  Saint  Thomas  was  preserved  in  that  part 
of  the  cathedral  called  Becket's  Crown.1 

The  earliest  mention  of  the  Corona,  as  I  believe,  is  in  the 
Registers  of  Henry  de  Estria,  Prior  of  Canterbury,  in  the 
enumeration  of  the  “  Nova  Opera  in  Ecclesia  ”  in  his  times. 
Under  the  year  1314  is  the  entry:  “Pro  corona  sancti 
Thome  auro  et  argento  et  lapidibus  preciosis  ornanda,  cxv. 
li.  xij.  s.”  In  the  same  year  the  Prior  provided  a  new  crest 
of  gold  for  the  shrine.2  The  same  record  comprises  a  list 
of  the  relics  in  the  cathedral,  amongst  which  are  men¬ 
tioned,  “Corpus  Sancti  Odonis,  in  feretro,  ad  coronam  versus 
austrum.  —  Corpus  Sancti  Wilfridi,  in  feretro,  ad  coronam 
versus  aquilonem.”  It  seems  improbable  that  this  large 
expenditure  in  precious  metals  and  gems3  should  relate 
to  the  apsidal  chapel,  according  to  Professor  Willis’s  expla¬ 
nation  of  the  term  Corona,  no  portion  of  the  building  being 
specified  to  which  such  costly  decoration  was  applied.  The 
expression  would  rather  imply,  as  I  conceive,  the  enrich¬ 
ment  of  some  precious  object,  such  as  a  yhylacterium  scri- 
nium ,  feretory,  or  the  like,  described  as  “  Corona  sancti 
Thome.”  The  phrase  “  ad  coronam,”  moreover,  in  the  list 
of  relics,  can  scarcely,  I  would  submit,  signify  that  the  bod¬ 
ies  of  Saint  Odo  and  Saint  Wilfrid  were  placed  in  a  build¬ 
ing  or  chapel  called  Corona,  but  rather  implies  that  they 
were  placed  adjacent  to  some  object  known  as  Corona ,  at  its 
north  and  south  sides,  respectively ;  thus  also  in  the  context 
we  find  other  reliques  placed  “  ad  alt  are,”  whilst  others  are 
described  as  “  in  navi  Ecclesie,”  etc. 

1  Pilgrimages  to  Walsingham  and  Canterbury,  p.  119.  Mr.  John  Nich¬ 
ols,  in  his  Royal  Wills,  p.  70,  adopted  the  popular  opinion.  The  altar 
where  the  saint’s  head  was,  he  remarks,  “  was  probably  in  that  part  of  the 
cathedral  called  Becket’s  Crown.” 

2  Register  1. 11,  fol.  212,  Canterbury  Treasury;  Register  of  Prior  Henry, 
Cotton  MS.,  Galba  E.  IY.  14,  fol.  103! 

8  Dart,  Appendix,  p.  xlii. 


334  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


The  Corona ,  like  the  shrine,  the  martirium  and  tumba , 
was  in  charge  of  a  special  officer,  called  the  “Cnstos  Corone 
beati  Thome  ;  ”  and  mention  also  occurs  of  the  “  Magister 
Corone,”  apparently  the  same  official.  In  a  “  Book  of  Ac¬ 
counts  ”  of  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Monastery,  preserved 
in  the  Chapter  Library,  the  following  entries  occur  under 
the  head  of  “  Oblaciones  cum  obvencionibus  :  ”  — 

“  De  Custode  Corone  beati  Thome,  xl.  s. 

“  Denarii  recepti  pro  vino  convent.us.  — •  Item,  de  Custodi- 
bus  Feretri  Sancti  Thome,  xxx.  s.  Item,  de  Custode  Corone 
Sancti  Thome,  xx.  s.  Item,  de  Custode  Tumbe  beati  Thome, 
iij.s.  iiij.d.  Item,  de  Custode  Martirii  Sancti  Thome,  iij.  s. 
iiij.d.  Item,  de  Custode  beate  Marie  in  cryptis,”  etc.  30 
Henr.  VI.  (1451).1 

There  were,  it  appears,  three  objects  of  especial  venera¬ 
tion,  —  the  feretrum  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Trinity ; 
the  punctum  ensis,  in  the  Martyrdom;  and  the  caput  beati 
Thome.  At  each  there  was  an  altar.  The  Black  Prince  be¬ 
queathed  tapestry  to  three  altars,  besides  the  high  altar; 
namely,  “  l’autier  la  ou  Mons’r  Saint  Thomas  gist,  l’autier 
la  ou  la  teste  est,  l’autier  la  ou  la  poynte  de  1’espie  est.” 

The  authority  of  Erasmus  seems  conclusive  that  the  caput 
was  shown  in  the  crypt.  After  inspecting  the  cuspis  gladii 
in  the  Martyrdom,  Erasmus  says  :  “  Hinc  digressi  subimus 
cryptoporticum  :  ea  habet  suos  mystagogos  :  illic  primum 
exhibetur  calvaria  martyris  perforata ;  reliqua  tecta  sunt 
argento,  summa  cranii  pars  nuda  patet  osculo.” 

I  have  been  induced  to  offer  these  notices  from  the  con¬ 
viction  that  the  apsidal  chapel  called  Becket’s  Crown  re¬ 
ceived  that  name  from  some  precious  object  connected  with 
the  cultus  of  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  or  from  some  pecu¬ 
liar  feature  of  its  decorations.  This  notion  obviously  sug¬ 
gests  itself,  that  such  an  object  may  have  been  the  reliquary 

1  MSS.  in  the  Chapter  Library,  volume  marked  E.  6,  fol.  33.  Amongst 
the  few  evidences  of  this  nature  which  have  escaped  destruction  may  be 
mentioned  a  curious  Book  of  Accounts  of  William  Inggram,  Gustos  of  the 
Martirium,  MS.  C.  11.  It  contains  much  information  regarding  the  books 
in  the  library  of  the  monastery,  and  other  matters. 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  335 


in  which  the  corona ,*  or  upper  portion  of  the  cranium,  cut  off 
by  the  savage  stroke  of  Richard  le  Breton,  was  placed  apart 
from  the  skull  itself.  This  supposition,  however,  seems  to 
be  set  aside  by  the  inscription  accompanying  the  drawing 
in  Cotton  MS.  Tib.  E,  VIII.  fol.  286  b,  of  which  an  accu¬ 
rate  copy  has  been  given  in  this  volume.  The  manuscript 
suffered  from  fire  in  1731,  and  the  following  words  only  are 

now  legible  :  “  This  chest  of  iron  cont . bones 

of  Thomas  Becket . all  with  the  wounde  . 

.  .  .  and  the  pece  cut . ”  Thus  rendered 

on  Vaughan’s  plate,  engraved  from  this  drawing  when  it 
was  in  a  more  perfect  state  (Dugdale,  Monast.  Angl.,  i.  18, 
orig.  edit.,  printed  in  1655).  —  “  Loculus  ille,  quern  vides  fer- 
reum,  ossa  Tho:  Becketti  cum  calvaria  necnon  rupta  ilia 
cranii  parte  quae  mortem  inferebat  complectebatur.”  2 

It  has  been  questioned  whether  any  altar  existed  in  Beck¬ 
et’s  Crown.  The  original  stones  still  remaining  on  the 
raised  platform  at  this  extreme  east  end  of  the  church  still 
present  traces  of  some  arrangement  which  does  not  appear 
to  indicate  the  position  of  an  altar,  but  rather  of  some 
railing,  or  clausum ,  which  may  have  protected  the  object  of 
veneration  there  displayed.  No  clew  appears  to  direct  the 
inquiry  as  to  its  character,  with  the  exception  of  the  brief 

1  Corona  properly  designated  the  circle  of  hair  left  on  the  priest’s  head  by 
the  tonsure.  “  Fit  corona  ex  rasura  in  summitate  capitis,  et  tonsione  ca- 
pillorum  in  parte  capitis  inferiore,  et  sic  circulus  capillorum  proprie  dicitur 
corona.”  —  Lyndwood.  “The  hair  was  shorn  from  the  top  of  the  head, 
more  or  less  wide,  according  as  the  wearer  happened  to  be  high  or  low 
in  order.”  —  Dr.  Rock’s  Church  of  our  Fathers,  i.  187.  The  word  is 
used  in  the  accounts  of  Becket’s  murder  to  describe  the  upper  part  of  the 
skull,  or  brain-pan.  Thus  Fitzstephen  says  :  “  Corona  capitis  tota  ei  am- 
putata  est;  ”  and  he  describes  the  savage  act  of  Hugh  de  Horsea,  —  “  a  con- 
cavitate  coronse  amputatse  cum  mucrone  cruorem  et  cerebrum  extrahebat.  ” 
(Ed.  Sparkes,  p.  87.)  Diceto  states  that  Becket  received  his  death-wound 
“  in  corona  capitis.”  (Ang.  Sacra,  ii.  691.) 

2  On  comparing  this  drawing  with  Stow’s  account  of  the  removal  of 
Becket’s  Shrine,  it  seems  almost  certain  that  this  loculus  ferreus,  shown 
with  the  shrine  in  the  Cotton  MS.,  was  the  “  chest  of  yron  conteyning  the 
bones  of  Thomas  Becket,  skull  and  all,  with  the  wounde  of  his  death,  and 
the  peece  cut  out  of  his  scull  layde  in  the  same  wound.”  This  chest  is  dis¬ 
tinctly  said  by  Stow  to  have  been  within  the  shrine.  (See  p.  268.) 


336  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


notice  of  Erasmus,  who  seems  to  allude  to  Becket’s  Crown 
when  speaking  of  the  upper  church  behind  the  high  altar : 
“  Illic  in  sacello  qnodam  ostenditur  tota  facies  optimi  viri 
inaurata,  multisque  gemmis  insignita.”  May  not  this  have 
been  an  image  of  Saint  Thomas,  or  one  of  those  gorgeously 
enriched  busts,  of  life  size,  covered  with  precious  metals  and 
richly  jewelled,  —  a  class  of  reliquaries  of  which  remarkable 
examples  still  exist  in  many  continental  churches  1  Such  a 
reliquary  existed  in  1295  at  St.  Paul’s,  London,  and  is  de¬ 
scribed  in  an  inventory  given  by  Dugdale  as  “  Capud  S. 
Athelberti  Regis  in  capsa  argentea  deaurata,  facta  ad  mo- 
dum  capitis  Regis  cum  corona  continente  in  circulo  xvi. 
lapides  majores,”  etc. 

In  conclusion,  I  will  only  invite  attention  to  the  prob¬ 
ability  that  a  capsa  of  this  description,  highly  suitable  to 
receive  so  remarkable  a  relique  as  the  corona  of  Becket’s 
skull  separate  from  the  other  remains  of  the  saint,  may  have 
been  displayed  in  the  apsidal  chapel  thence  designated 
“Becket’s  Crown.”  If  it  be  sought  to  controvert  such  a 
supposition  by  the  conflicting  evidence  of  the  Cotton  MS.  of 
Erasmus’s  Colloquy,  or  of  Stow’s  Annals,  it  can  only  be  said 
that  it  is  as  impracticable  to  reconcile  such  discrepancies  as 
to  explain  the  triple  heads  of  Saint  John  the  Baptist.  The 
royal  Declaration  of  1539  records  that  Becket’s  “head  almost 
hole  was  found  with  the  rest  of  the  bones  closed  within  the 
shryne,  and  that  there  was  in  that  church  a  great  skull  of 
another  head,  but  much  greater  by  three-quarter  parts  than 
that  part  which  was  lacking  in  the  head  closed  within  the 
shryne.”  [A  passage  has  been  pointed  out  to  me  in  Ead- 
mer’s  Hist.  Nov.,  ii.  92,  where,  describing  the  difficulty  of 
determining  the  place  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
(Anselm)  then  for  the  first  time  appearing  in  a  Roman 
council,  he  says,  “  in  corond  sedes  illi  posita  est,  qui  locus 
non  obscuri  honoris  in  tali  conventu  solet  haberi.”  This 
confirms  Professor  Willis’s  view.  —  A.  P.  S.] 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  337 


III.  —  Miraculous  Cures  at  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas. 

(See  pp.  226,  295.) 

The  contemporary  writers  are  diffuse  in  the  enumeration 
of  the  maladies  for  which  a  remedy  was  sought  by  multi¬ 
tudes  from  the  reliques  of  Saint  Thomas,  and  the  miracles 
effected.  Gervase  states  that  twro  volumes  of  such  miracles 
were  extant  at  Canterbury. 

Having  been  favored  with  unusual  facilities  of  access  to  the 
ancient  registers  and  evidences  preserved  in  the  Treasury,1 
in  searching  for  materials  which  might  throw  light  upon  the 
subjects  to  which  this  volume  relates,  I  have  been  surprised 
at  the  extreme  paucity  of  information  regarding  Becket,  or 
any  part  of  the  church  specially  connected  with  the  venera¬ 
tion  shown  towards  him.  Scarcely  is  an  item  to  be  found 
in  the  various  Rolls  of  Account  making  mention  of  Saint 
Thomas ;  and  where  his  name  occurred,  it  has  for  the  most 
part  been  carefully  erased.  With  the  exception  of  certain 
Papal  Bulls,  and  some  communication  regarding  Canterbury 
Jubilees,  the  name  is  scarcely  to  be  found  in  the  long  series 
of  registers.  We  seek  in  vain  for  any  schedule  of  the  ac¬ 
cumulated  wealth  w7hich  surrounded  his  shrine  :  even  in  the 
long  inventory  of  plate  and  vestments  left  in  1540  by  the 
Commissioners  after  the  surrender,  “  till  the  king’s  pleasure 
be  further  declared,”  and  subscribed  by  Cranmer’s  owTn 
hand,  the  words  “  Storye  of  Thomas  Beket,”  in  the  descrip¬ 
tion  of  a  piece  of  embroidered  velvet,  are  blotted  out.  It  is 
remarkable  to  notice  the  pains  bestowed  on  the  destruction 
of  everything  which  might  revive  any  memory  of  the  saint. 

The  following  extracts  from  the  registers  have  appeared 
to  claim  attention,  because  they  are  the  only  records  of  their 
class  which  have  been  found.  A  royal  letter  is  not  without 
interest,  whatever  may  be  its  subject ;  and  it  is  remarkable 

1  It  is  with  much  gratification  that  I  would  record  the  acknowledgment 
of  the  kindness  of  the  Very  Rev.  the  Dean  Lyall,  the  Ven.  Archdeacon 
Harrison,  and  of  other  members  of  the  Chapter,  in  the  liberal  permission  to 
prosecute  my  investigation  of  these  valuable  materials  for  local  and  general 
history.  —  A.  W. 


22 


338  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


to  find  Richard  II.  congratulating  the  Primate  on  the  good 
influence  anticipated  from  a  fresh  miracle  at  the  Shrine  of 
Becket,  in  counteracting  the  doctrine  of  Wyclilfe,  or  the 
perilous  growth  of  Lollardism.  The  subject  of  the  miracle 
appears  to  have  been  a  foreigner,  probably  of  distinction  ; 
but  I  found  no  clew  to  identify  who  the  person  may  have 
been. 

The  second  of  these  documents  appears  to  be  a  kind  of 
encyclical  certificate  of  a  noted  cure  miraculously  effected  in 
the  person  of  a  young  Scotchman,  Alexander,  son  of  Stephen 
of  Aberdeen  ;  and  it  is  remarkable  as  showing  the  widely 
spread  credence  in  the  efficacy  of  a  pilgrimage  to  St.  Thomas, 
and  the  singular  formality  with  which  it  was  thought  expe¬ 
dient  to  authenticate  and  publish  the  miracle. 

This  document,  moreover,  states  that  Saint  Thomas  having 
(with  the  succor  of  Divine  clemency)  restored  to  the  said 
Alexander  the  use  of  his  feet,  he  proceeded,  in  pursuance  of 
his  vow,  to  the  Holy  Blood  of  Wilsnake,  and  returned  safe 
and  sound  to  the  shrine  of  the  Martyr.  I  am  not  awTare  that 
mention  has  been  made  by  English  writers  of  the  celebrated 
relique  formerly  preserved  at  Wilsnake,  in  Prussia ;  and,  al¬ 
though  not  connected  with  Canterbury,  a  brief  account  of 
the  origin  of  this  pilgrimage,  which  appears  to  have  been 
much  in  vogue  in  our  own  country,  may  not  be  inadmissible 
in  these  notes.  I  am  indebted  to  the  learned  biographer  of 
Alfred,  Dr.  Pauli,  for  directing  my  attention  to  Wilsnake 
and  the  curious  legend  of  the  Holy  Blood. 

Wilsnack,  or  Wilsnake,  is  a  small  town  in  the  north  part 
of  the  Mark  of  Brandenburg.1  In  a  time  of  popular  commo¬ 
tion,  in  1383,  the  town,  with  its  church,  was  burned.  The 
priest,  Crantzius  relates,  having  been  recalled  by  a  vision  to 
perform  Mass  in  the  ruined  fabric,  found  the  altar  standing, 
the  candles  upon  it,  and  between  them,  in  a  napkin  or  cor¬ 
poral,  three  consecrated  hosts,  united  into  one  and  stained 
with  blood.  Another  account  states  that  searching  amongst 

l  An  account  of  Wilsnack  is  given  by  Stenzel,  in  his  “  Geschichte  des 
Preussischen  Staats,”  i.  175. 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  339 


the  ashes  near  the  altar,  he  discovered  the  bleeding  wafers. 
The  priest  hastened  to  his  diocesan,  the  Bishop  of  Havel- 
berg :  he  came  with  his  clergy  and  certified  this  miracle, 
which  was  forthwith  proclaimed  far  and  near.  Before  the 
close  of  the  century  innumerable  pilgrims  visited  the  place, 
kings  and  princes  sent  costly  gifts,  and  Pope  Urban  VI.  pro¬ 
mulgated  indulgences  to  the  faithful  who  repaired  thither.1 
From  all  quarters,  says  Crantzius,  votaries  came  in  crowds, 
—  from  Hungary,  France,  England,  Scotland,  Denmark, 
Sweden,  Norway.  The  fame  of  the  relique  may  have  quickly 
spread  to  our  own  island,  as  M.  Pauli  observes,  through 
the  numerous  English  knights  who  about  that  time  trav¬ 
ersed  the  North  of  Europe  to  join  the  Teutonic  knights  in 
Prussia. 

The  miracle,  it  is  alleged,  soon  engrossed  so  much  atten¬ 
tion  that  neighboring  churches  where  noted  reliques  were  pre¬ 
served  became  neglected.  Inquiry  was  instituted  ;  and  the 
Archbishop  of  Prague  sent  a  deputy  to  investigate  the  mat¬ 
ter, —  no  less  a  person  than  John  Huss,  who  with  the  fear¬ 
less  spirit  of  the  Reformer  exposed  the  abuses  practised  at 
Wilsnake.  He  wrote  a  remarkable  treatise  on  superstitions 
of  the  same  nature  in  various  places.2  In  1400  the  learned 
Wunschebergius  also  assailed  the  feigned  miracles  of  Wil¬ 
snake,  and  an  eminent  canon  of  Magdeburg  put  forth  a  phi¬ 
lippic  against  the  prelate  who  tolerated  such  pious  frauds 
for  lucre’s  sake.  It  was,  however,  of  no  avail ;  the  Bishop 

1  Leaden  signs,  or  signacula,  representing  the  bleeding  wafers,  were  dis¬ 
tributed  to  pilgrims  in  like  manner  as  the  ampullae  of  Saint  Thomas,  or  the 
mitred  heads,  — tokens  of  their  journey  to  Canterbury,  as  mentioned  in  this 
volume  (pp  272,  274).  Several  signs  of  Saint  Thomas  are  represented  in 
Mr.  Roach  Smith’s  Collectanea,  i.  83,  ii.  46-49. 

2  The  “  Holy  Blood  ”  of  our  Lord  was  believed  to  exist  in  various  places, 
of  which  Mantua  was  the  most  celebrated.  M.  Paris  relates  that  Henry  III. 
presented  to  the  monks  of  Westminster  in  1247  some  of  the  blood  shed  at 
the  crucifixion,  which  he  had  received  from  the  Master  of  the  Templars. 
The  Earl  of  Cornwall  gave  a  portion  to  Hayles  Abbey,  —  a  relique  much 
celebrated,  and  to  which  allusion  is  made  by  Chaucer.  He  gave  a  portion  to 
the  College  of  Bons  Hommes  at  Asliridge,  near  to  Berkhampstead.  It  was 
exhibited  by  the  Bishop  of  Rochester,  at  Paul’s  Cross,  in  1538,  and  proved 
to  be  honey  colored  with  saffron. 


340  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


of  Havelberg  sustained  his  suit  at  Rome  with  energy ;  the 
Papal  approbation  was  renewed ;  the  credit  of  the  Holy 
Blood  was  confirmed  by  the  Councils  of  Constance  and  Basle. 

In  the  sixteenth  century  Matthew  Ludecus,  Dean  of  Ha¬ 
velberg,  compiled  the  history  of  this  superstition.  There 
was,  he  relates,  a  large  balance  suspended  in  the  church  of 
Wilsnake.  In  one  scale  it  was  usual  to  place  the  pilgrim 
who  sought  remission  of  his  offences ;  in  the  other  were 
piled  his  oblations,  bread  and  flesh,  perhaps  cheese,  or  other 
homely  offerings.  If  the  visitor  seemed  wealthy,  no  impres¬ 
sion  was  made  on  the  beam  ;  the  priest  affirming  that  indeed 
he  must  be  a  grievous  offender,  whose  crimes  could  not  be 
expiated  without  more  valuable  oblations.  At  length,  by 
some  secret  contrivance,  the  scale  was  permitted  to  fall.1 

Huss  has  narrated  a  characteristic  anecdote  of  the  miracu¬ 
lous  fallacies  of  Wilsnake.  A  citizen  of  Prague,  Petrziko 
de  Ach,  affected  with  a  withered  arm,  offered  a  silver  hand, 
and  desiring  to  discover  what  the  priests  would  put  forth 
concerning  his  costly  gift,  he  tarried  till  the  third  day,  and 
repaired  unnoticed  to  the  church.  As  it  chanced,  the  priest 
was  in  the  pulpit,  declaiming  to  the  assembled  votaries,  “  Au- 
dite  pueri  miraculum  !  ”  — -  “  Behold,  a  citizen  of  Prague  has 
been  healed  by  the  Holy  Blood,  and  see  here  how  he  hath 
offered  a  silver  hand  in  testimony  of  his  cure  !  ”  But  the 
sufferer,  standing  up,  with  arm  upraised,  exclaimed,  “  Oh, 
priest,  what  falsehood  is  this  ?  Behold  my  hand,  still  with¬ 
ered  as  before  !  ”  “  Of  this,”  observes  Huss,  “  his  friends 
and  kinsmen  at  Prague  are  witnesses  to  this  day.” 

It  was  only  in  1551  that  Joachim  Elfeldt,  becoming  pastor 
of  the  church,  being  imbued  with  the  Reformed  faith,  put 
an  end  to  the  superstition,  and  committed  the  wafers  to 
the  flames.  The  canons  of  Havelberg,  indignant  that  their 
gains  were  gone,  threw  him  into  prison,  and  sought  to  bring 
him  to  the  stake;  but  he  was  rescued  by  the  Elector  of 
Brandenburg.  A.  W. 

1  A  curious  woodcut  representing  this  proceeding  is  given  by  Wolfius,  in 
his  “  Lectiones  Memorabiles,”  p.  619. 


DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY.  341 


Litera  domini  Regis  graciosa  missa  domino  archiepiscopo, 
regraciando  sibi  de  novo  miraculo  Sancti  Thome  Martiris 
sibi  denunciato.1  ( Circa  a.  d.  1393,  temp.  Rich.  II.) 

Register  of  Christ  Church ,  Canterbury ,  R.  19,  fol.  15. 

Tresreverent  piere  en  dien  et  nostro  trescher  Cosyn,  nous 
vous  saloioms  tresovent  denter  coer,  vous  ensauntz  savoir  qe 
a  la  fesaunce  de  cestes  noz  lettres  nous  estoioms  en  bone 
sancte,  merciez  ent  soit  nostre  seignour,  et  avoms  tresgraunt 
desyr  de  trestout  nostre  coer  davoir  de  vous  sovent  novelles 
semblables,  des  quex  vous  priomos  (sic)  cherement  qacercer 
nous  vuillez  de  temps  en  temps  au  pluis  sovent  qe  vous 
purrez  bonement  pur  nostre  graunt  contort  et  singuler  ple- 
saunce.  Si  vous  mercioms  trescher  Cosyn  tresperfitement 
de  coer  de  voz  lettres,  et  avons  presentement  envoyez,  et  par 
especial  quen  si  bref  nous  avetz  certefiez  du  miracle  quore 
tarde  avint  en  vostre  esglise  au  seynt  feretre  du  glorious 
martir  Seint  Thomas,  et  avoms,  ce  nous  est  avis  tresgrant  et 
excellente  cause  et  nous  et  vous  de  ent  mercier  lui  haut 
soverayn  mostre  ('?)  des  miracles,  qui  ceste  miracle  ad  pleu 
monstrer  en  noz  temps,  et  en  une  persone  estraunge,  sicome 
pur  extendre  as  parties  estraungez  et  lointeines  la  gloriouse 
deison 2  verray  martyr  susdit.  Nous  semble  parmi  ce  qe 
nous  sumes  treshautemens  tenuz  de  luy  loer  et  ent  rendre 
merciz  et  graciz,  et  si  le  voiloms  faire  parmi  sa  grace  de 
nostre  enter  poer  sauntz  feintise  ;  especialment  vous  enpri- 
auntz  qe  paraillement  de  vostre  fait  le  vuillez  faire  a  honour 
de  luy  de  qui  sourde  tout  bien  et  honour,  et  au  bone  exam¬ 
ple  de  touz  noz  subgestez.  Et  verramient  treschier  Cosyn 
nous  avoms  tresperfit  espiraunce  qen  temps  de  nous  et 
de  vous  serront  noz  noblez  et  seyntes  predecessours  pluis 
glorifiez  qe  devant  longe  temps  nont  estez,  dont  le  cause 

1  This  letter  was  written,  as  may  be  supposed  from  the  place  in  which  it 
is  found  in  the  Register,  and  the  dates  of  documents  accompanying  it,  about 
a.  D.  1393.  If  this  conjecture  be  correct,  it  was  addressed  by  Richard  II.  to 
William  Courtenay,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  from  1381  to  1396. 

2  This  passage  is  apparently  incomplete,  or  incorrectly  copied  into  the 
Register.  The  sense  may,  however,  be  easily  gathered  from  the  context. 


342  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CANTERBURY  TREASURY. 


verisemblable  qe  nous  moeve  est  celle  quen  noz  temps,  ceste 
assavoir  de  present,  noz  foie  et  creaunce  ount  plusours 
enemys  qe  de  temps  hors  de  memorie  navoient,  les  quex  par 
la  mercie  de  mercie  (sic)  de  Jhesu  Crist  et  ces  gloriousez 
miracles  serount  a  ce  qe  nous  creouns  de  lour  erroure  con- 
vertyz  a  voie  de  salue  ;  celui  dieu  de  sa  haute  puissaunce 
lottroie  a  la  glorie  de  luy  et  de  toutz  seyntz,  et  la  salvacioun 
‘de  soen  poeple  universele.  Trescher  Cosyn  de  vous  vouellez, 
et  de  tout  quamque  vous  vorrez  auxi  devers  vous  nous  cer- 
tefiez  pur  nostre  amour,  sachauntz  qe  nous  vorroms  tres- 
volunters  faire  tout  ce  qa  honour  vous  purra  tourner  et 
plesir.  Et  le  seynt  esprit  vou  eit  en  sa  garde.  Done  souz 
nostre  signet,  a  nostre  Chastelle  de  Corf,  le  vij.  jour  daugst. 

De  quodam  miraculo  ostenso  ad  feretrum  beati  Thome  Can- 
tuariensis.  Litera  Testimonialis  (a.  d.  1445). 

Register  of  Christ  Church ,  Canterbury ,  R.  19,  fol.  163. 

Universis  sancte  matris  ecclesie  filiis  ad  quos  presentes 
litere  nostre  pervenerint,  Johannes  permissione  divina  prior 
Ecclesie  Christi  Cantuariensis,1  et  ejusdem  loci  Capitulum, 
Salutem  et  semper  in  domino  gloriari.  Cum  fidelis  quilibet 
Christicola  divine  majestatis  cultor  de  mirifica  Dei  clemencia 
gloriari  et  mente  extolli  tenetur,  apostolica  sic  dictante  sen- 
tentia,  “  Qui  gloriatur  in  domini  glorietur,”  2  in  Dei  laudis 
magnificenciam  ore  et  mente  undique  provocamur,  turn 
immensis  operibus  suis  operator  est  semper  Deus  mirabilis 
et  in  sanctorum  suorum  miraculis  coruscans  gloriosus. 
Unde,  cum  nuper  in  nostra  sancta  tocius  Anglie  metropoli 
novum  et  stnpendum  per  divine  operacionis  clemenciam  in 
meritis  sancti  martiris  Thome  Cantuariensis  experti  sumus 
miraculum,  Deum  laudare  et  ejus  potenciam  glorificare  ob- 
ligamur,  quani  totus  orbis  terrarum  ympnis  et  laudibus 
devote  laudare  non  cessat.  Nam  cum  Allexander  Stephani 
Alius  in  Scocia,  de  Aberdyn  oppido  natus,  pedibus  contractus 

1  John  Salisbury,  who  became  Prior  in  1437,  and  died  in  1446. 

2  1  Cor.  i.  31. 


CRESCENT  IN  THE  ROOF  OF  TRINITY  CHAPEL.  343 


vigintiquatuor  annis  ab  ortu  suo  penaliter  laborabat,1  ad 
instanciam  cujusdam  matrone  votum  ad  Feretrum  sancti 
Thome  emittens,  per  grandia  laborum  vehicula  cum  cetero- 
rum  impotencium  instrumentis,  supra  genua  debilia  ad  fere- 
trum  predictum  pervenit,  ibique  beatus  Thomas,  diviua 
opitulante  clemencia,  secundo  die  mensis  Maii  proximi  ante 
datum  presentium,  bases  et  plantas  eidem  Allexandro  ilico 
restituit.  Et  in  voti  sui  deinde  complementum  ad  sangui- 
nem  sanctum  de  Wilsnake,  divino  permittente  auxilio,  sanus 
et  firmus  adiit,  et  in  martiris  sui  Thome  merito  ad  feretrum 
illius  prospere  revenit.  Nos  igitur,  divine  majestatis  gloriam 
sub  ignorancie  tenebris  latitare  nolentes,  sed  super  fidei  tec¬ 
tum  predicare  affectantes,  ut  Christi  cunctis  fidelibus  valeat 
undique  coruscare,  ea  que  de  jure  ad  probacionem  requiren- 
tur  miraculi,  sub  Sacramento  dicti  Allexandri  necnon  aliorum 
fide  dignorum  de  oppido  predicto,  videlicet  Allexander  Arat 
generosi,  Robertique  filii  David,  et  Johannis  Thome  filii, 
legitime  comprobato,  in  nostra  sancta  Cantuariensi  ecclesia 
fecimus  solempniter  publicari.  Unde  universitati  supplica- 
mus  literas  per  presentes  quatinus  dignetis  Deum  laudare 
de  (1)  sancto  martire  ejus  Thoma  Cantuariensi,  in  cujus 
meritis  ecclesiam  suam  unicam  sibi  sponsam  in  extirpacio- 
nem  heresum  et  errorum  variis  miraculis  pluribus  decursis 
temporibus  mirifice  hucusque  decoravit.  In  cujus  rei  testi¬ 
monium,  &c.  Dat’  Cantuaria  in  domo  nostra  Capitulari, 
xxvij.m0  die  Mensis  Julii,  Anno  Domini  Millesimo  cccmo.  xlvt0. 


NOTE  G. 

THE  CRESCENT  IN  THE  ROOF  OF  CANTERBURY 
CATHEDRAL.  (See  p.  266.) 

The  Crescent  in  the  roof  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  above 
the  Shrine  of  Becket,  has  given  rise  to  much  perplexity. 

1  Amongst,  the  miraculous  cures  obtained  by  pilgrims,  Fitzstephen  spe¬ 
cially  mentions  “  contractis  membrorum  linea  menta  extensa  et  directa 
sunt.”  (Vita  S.  Thome,  ed.  Sparkes,  p.  90.) 


344  CRESCENT  IN  THE  ROOE  OE  TRINITY  CHAPEL. 


One  obvious  solution  has  often  been  sought  in  the  compara¬ 
tively  modern  legend  of  Becket’s  Saracen  mother.  Another 
theory  has  referred  the  crescent  to  the  cultus  of  the  Vir¬ 
gin,  who  is  often  represented  (in  allusion  to  Rev.  xii.  1)  as 
standing  on  the  moon.  The  emblem,  it  is  thought,  might 
have  been  appropriate  in  this  place,  both  as  occupying  the 
usual  site  of  the  Lady  Chapel  and  as  containing  the  tomb 
of  one  who  considered  himself  under  her  special  patronage. 
A  third  conjecture  supposes  the  crescent  to  have  been  put 
up  by  the  Crusaders  in  reference  to  the  well-known  title  of 
Becket,  “Saint  Thomas  of  Acre”  and  to  the  success  which  his 
intercession  was  supposed  to  have  achieved  in  driving  the 
Saracens  out  of  that  fortress.  If  so,  it  possesses  more  than 
a  local  interest,  as  a  proof  that  the  crescent  was  already  the 
emblem  of  the  Seljukian  Turks,  long  before  the  capture  of 
Constantinople,  which  is  assigned  by  Von  Hammer  as  the  date 
of  the  assumption  of  the  Crescent  by  the  Turkish  power. 

In  confirmation  of  this  last  view  are  subjoined  the  follow¬ 
ing  interesting  remarks  of  Mr.  George  Austin,  founded  on 
actual  inspection  :  — 

“  Much  difficulty  has  been  found  in  attempting  to  account 
for  the  presence  of  this  crescent  in  the  roof  of  the  Trinity 
Chapel.  Even  if  the  legend  of  Becket’s  mother  had  obtained 
credence  at  that  early  period,  it  may  be  observed  that  in 
the  painted  windows  around,  no  reference  is  made  to  the 
subject,  though  evidently  capable  of  so  much  pictorial  ef¬ 
fect.  But  there  are  other  difficulties  which  suggest  another 
interpretation. 

“  I  have  always  believed  it  to  have  been  one  of  a  number 
of  trophies  which,  in  accordance  with  a  well-known  custom 
of  the  time,  once  adorned  this  part  of  the  cathedral ;  and  I 
have  been  governed  by  the  following  reasons :  First,  that 
more  than  one  fresco  painting  of  encounters  with  the  East- 
tern  infidels  formerly  ornamented  the  walls  (the  last  traces 
of  which  were  removed  during  the  restoration  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  under  Dean  Percy,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Carlisle),  and 
in  one  of  which  the  green  crescent  flag  of  the  enemy  seems 


CRESCENT  IN  THE  ROOF  OF  TRINITY  CHAPEL.  345 


borne  away  by  English  archers.  Might  not  these  fres¬ 
cos  have  depicted  the  fights  in  which  these  trophies  were 
won  1  Secondly,  that  when  the  groined  roof  was  relieved  of 
the  long-accumulated  coats  of  whitewash  and  repaired,  some 
six-and-thirty  years  since,  the  crescent  was  taken  down  and 
re-gilt.  It  was  found  to  be  made  of  a  foreign  wood,  some¬ 
what  like  in  grain  to  the  eastern  wood  known  by  the  name 
of  iron-wood.  It  had  been  fastened  to  the  groining  by  a 
large  nail  of  very  singular  shape,  with  a  large  square  head, 
apparently  of  foreign  manufacture. 

“  In  the  hollows  of  the  groining  which  radiate  from  the 
crescent  were  a  number  of  slight  iron  staples  (the  eyes  of 
which  were  about  1J  inch  in  diameter)  driven  into  the 
ceiling,  and  about  12  inches  farther  from  the  crescent  were 
a  number  of  other  staples  about  the  same  diameter,  but 
projecting  4  or  5  inches  from  the  ceiling;  many  of  these  had 
been  removed,  and  all  bore  traces  of  violence.  Now,  if  the 
use  of  these  staples  could  be  accurately  defined,  it  would,  I 
think,  demonstrate  the  origin  of  the  crescent.  They  could 
only  have  been  used,  I  think,  either  to  attach  to  the  ceil¬ 
ing  the  cords  by  which  the  wood  canopy  of  the  shrine  was 
raised,  or  to  suspend  the  lamps  which  doubtless  were  hung 
around  the  shrine  below,  or  else  to  suspend  trophies  of 
which  the  crescent  was  the  centre.  But  I  believe  there  is 
little  doubt  that  the  shrine  was  not  placed  immediately  be¬ 
neath  the  centre  of  these  rings  of  staples,  but  more  to  the 
westward.  But  if  not  so  placed,  the  canopy  was  doubtless 
raised  by  a  pulley  attached  to  the  ceiling  by  one  cord,  and 
not  by  a  web  of  upwards  of  twenty;  and  in  addition  to  this, 
the  staples  were  attached  so  slightly  to  the  roof  that  they 
would  not  even  have  borne  the  weight  of  a  cord  alone,  of  the 
length  sufficient  to  reach  the  pavement.  And  it  does  not 
seem  likely  that  small  lamps  singly  suspended  from  the 
groining  would  have  been  arranged  in  two  small  concentric 
circles,  the  inner  only  2J  feet  in  diameter,  and  the  exterior 
but  4J.  Had  this  form  been  desired,  the  ancient  form  of 
chandelier  would  have  been  adopted. 


346  CRESCENT  IN  THE  ROOF  OF  TRINITY  CHAPEL. 


“  These  staples,  then,  could  not  have  been  used  for  those 
purposes ;  but  it  will  be  seen  that  they  are  singularly  well 
adapted  for  displaying  some  such  trophy  as  a  flag  or  spear, 
for  which  no  great  strength  was  requisite ;  and  the  posi¬ 
tion  and  peculiar  form  of  the  staples  favor  the  supposition, 
as  the  diagram  shows,  A  being  the  short  staple  and  B  the 
long  one. 


CEILING. 


“  According  to  this  view,  the  crescent  would  have  formed 
the  appropriate  centre  of  a  circle  of  flags,  horsetails,  etc., 
in  the  manner  attempted  to  be  shown  in  the  following 
sketch.” 


CUKES  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  ST.  THOMAS.  347 


NOTE  H. 

THE  MIRACLES  OF  BECKET,  AS  REPRESENTED  IN 
THE  PAINTED  WINDOWS  OF  THE  TRINITY  CHAPEL 
IN  CANTERBURY  CATHEDRAL.  (See  pp.  226,  311.) 

The  space  left  between  the  slender  groups  of  pillars 
round  the  Trinity  Chapel  has  been  so  entirely  filled  with 
windows,  that  it  appears  like  a  single  zone  of  light,  and  the 
effect  must  have  been  magnificent  when  every  window  was 
filled  with  painted  glass. 

Of  these,  unfortunately,  but  three  remain ;  but  they  are 
sufficient  to  attest  their  rare  beauty,  and  for  excellence  of 
drawing,  harmony  of  coloring,  and  purity  of  design,  are 
justly  considered  unequalled.  The  skill  with  which  the  mi¬ 
nute  figures  are  represented  cannot  even  at  this  day  be 
surpassed  :  it  is  extraordinary  to  see  how  every  feeling  of 
joy  or  sorrow,  pain  and  enjoyment,  is  expressed  both  in  fea¬ 
ture  and  position ;  and  even  in  the  representation  of  the 
innumerable  ills  and  diseases  which  were  cured  at  the  Mar¬ 
tyr’s  Shrine,  in  no  single  case  do  we  meet  with  any  offence 
against  good  taste,  by  which  the  eye  is  so  frequently  shocked 
in  the  cathedrals  of  Bourges,  Troyes,  and  Chartres.  But  in 
nothing  is  the  superiority  of  these  windows  shown  more  than 
in  the  beautiful  scrolls  and  borders  which  surround  the  win¬ 
dows,  and  gracefully  connect  the  groups  of  medallions. 

Unfortunately,  the  windows  throughout  the  cathedral, 
besides  the  effects  of  the  decree  of  Henry  VIII.  (mentioned 
on  page  295),  were,  during  the  troubles  of  the  Civil  Wars, 
destroyed  as  high  as  a  man  could  reach  up  with  a  pike,  at 
which  time  every  figure  of  a  priest  or  bishop  was  relentlessly 
broken.  These  windows,  like  everything  else  around,  seem 
to  have  aided  in  paying  homage  to  the  saint,  upon  whose 
shrine  their  tinted  shadows  fell.  They  were  filled  with 
illustrations  of  the  miracles  said  to  have  been  performed  by 
the  saint  after  his  death.  Three,  as  has  been  said,  still 


348  CURES  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


remain,  and  fragments  of  others  are  scattered  through  the 
building.1 

As  these  windows  were  very  similar  in  arrangement,  it 
will  be  sufficient  to  describe  one  of  them,  that  towards  the 
east  on  the  north  of  the  shrine. 

The  space  of  this  window  has  been  divided  into  geomet¬ 
ric  patterns,  each  pattern  consisting  of  a  group  of  nine 
medallions  ;  and  each  of  these  groups  has  contained  the  illus¬ 
tration  of  one  or  more  of  the  most  important  miracles  said 
to  have  been  performed  at  the  shrine  of  the  saint. 

This  window  has  at  some  time  been  taken  down,  and 
the  lights  or  medallions  replaced  without  the  slightest  re¬ 
gard  to  their  proper  position,  and  the  groups  of  subjects  are 
separated  and  intermixed  throughout  the  windows. 

The  lower  group  of  medallions  has  been  filled  by  illus¬ 
trations  of  a  miracle,  described  by  Benedict,2  where  a  child  is 
miraculously  restored  to  life  by  means  of  the  saint’s  blood 
mixed  with  water,  after  having  been  drowned  in  the  Med¬ 
way,  —  the  body  having  been  hours  in  the  water.  Unfortu¬ 
nately,  but  three  of  these  medallions  have  escaped.  In  the 
first  medallion  the  boys  are  seen  upon  the  banks  of  the  Med¬ 
way  pelting  the  frogs  in  the  sedges  along  the  stream  with 
stones  and  sticks,  whilst  the  son  is  falling  into  the  stream.  In 
the  next  his  companions  are  shown  relating  the  accident,  with 
hurried  gestures,  to  his  parents  at  the  door  of  their  house. 
And  in  the  third  we  are  again  taken  to  the  banks  of  the 
stream,  where  the  parents  stand  gazing  in  violent  grief  upon 
the  body  of  their  son,  which  is  being  extracted  from  the 
water  by  a  servant.  The  landscape  in  these  medallions  is 
exceedingly  well  rendered ;  the  trees  are  depicted  with  great 
grace. 

In  the  next  group  was  portrayed  a  miracle,  or  rather 
succession  of  miracles.  [The  story,  which  is  graphically 

1  A  group  representing  the  Martyrdom  remains  in  the  window  of  the 
south  transept  of  Christ  Church  Cathedral,  Oxford.  Bechet’s  head  has 
been  removed.  —  A.  P.  S. 

2  Benedicti  de  Miraculis  S.  Thomae  Cantuar.,  iii.  61.  See  pp.  69,  260. 


CURES  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  ST.  THOMAS.  349 


told  by  Benedict,  is  as  follows  :  “  The  household  of  a  dis¬ 
tinguished  knight,  Jordan,  son  of  Eisulf,  -was  struck  with 
sickness.  Amongst  others  died,  first,  the  nurse  of  his  son, 
and  then  the  son  himself,  a  boy  of  ten  years  old.  Mass  was 
said,  —  the  body  laid  out,  —  the  parents  were  in  hopeless 
grief.  It  so  happened  that  there  arrived,  that  day,  a  band 
of  twenty  pilgrims  from  Canterbury,  whom  Jordan  hospita¬ 
bly  lodged,  from  old  affection’s  sake  of  the  Martyr,  whom  he 
had  intimately  known.  The  arrival  of  the  pilgrims  recalled 
this  friendship,  —  and  ‘  his  heart/  he  said,  ‘  assured  him  so 
positively  of  the  Martyr’s  repugnance  to  the  death  of  his 
son,’  that  he  would  not  allow  the  body  to  be  buried.  From 
the  pilgrims  he  borrowed  some  of  the  diluted  w^ater  so  often 
mentioned,  and  bade  the  priest  pour  it  into  the  boy’s  mouth. 
This  was  done  without  effect.  He  then  himself  uncovered 
the  body,  raised  the  head,  forced  open  the  teeth  with  a  knife, 
and  poured  in  a  small  draught.  A  small  spot  of  red  showed 
itself  on  the  left  cheek  of  the  boy.  A  third  draught  was 
poured  down  the  throat.  The  boy  opened  one  eye  and  said, 

‘  Why  are  you  wreeping,  Father  ]  Why  are  you  crying, 
Lady  ?  The  blessed  Martyr  Thomas  has  restored  me  to 
you.’  He  was  then  speechless  till  evening.  The  father  put 
into  his  hands  four  pieces  of  silver,  to  be  an  offering  to  the 
Martyr  before  Mid-lent,  and  the  parents  sat  and  watched 
him.  At  evening  he  sat  up,  ate,  talked,  and  wTas  restored. 

“  But  the  vow  was  forgotten,  and  on  this  a  second  series  of 
wonders  occurred.  A  leper  three  miles  off  was  roused  from 
his  slumber  by  a  voice  calling  him  by  name,  ‘  Guirp,  wdiy 
sleepest  thou  ]  ’  He  rose,  asked  who  called  him,  —  wTas  told 
that  it  was  Thomas,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  that  he 
must  go  and  warn  the  knight  Jordan,  son  of  Eisulf,  of  the 
evils  that  would  befall  him  unless  he  instantly  fulfilled  his 
vow.  The  leper,  after  some  delay  and  repetitions  of  the 
vision,  sent  for  the  priest ;  the  priest  refused  to  convey  so 
idle  a  tale.  Saint  Thomas  appeared  again,  and  ordered  the 
leper  to  send  his  daughter  for  the  knight  and  his  wufe. 
They  came,  heard,  wondered,  and  fixed  the  last  week  in  Lent 


350  CURES  AT  THE  SHRINE  OE  ST.  THOMAS. 


for  the  performance  of  the  vow.  Unfortunately,  a  visit  from 
the  Lord  Warden  put  it  out  of  their  heads.  On  the  last  day 
of  the  last  week  —  that  is,  on  Easter-eve  —  they  were  sud¬ 
denly  startled  by  the  illness  of  the  eldest  son,  which  ter¬ 
minated  fatally  on  the  Friday  after  Easter.  The  parents 
fell  sick  at  the  same  time,  and  no  less  than  twenty  of  the 
household.  The  knight  and  his  wife  were  determined  at  all 
hazard  to  accomplish  their  vow.  By  a  violent  effort,  —  aided 
by  the  sacred  water,  —  they  set  off ;  the  servants  by  a  like 
exertion  dragging  themselves  to  the  gate  to  see  them  depart. 
The  lady  fell  into  a  swoon  no  less  than  seven  times  from  the 
fatigue  of  the  first  day ;  but  at  the  view  of  the  towers  of 
Canterbury  Cathedral  she  dismounted,  and  with  her  husband 
and  son,  barefoot,  walked  for  the  remaining  three  miles  into 
Canterbury,  and  then  the  vow  was  discharged.” 

This  story,  Benedict  says,  he  received  in  a  private  letter 
from  the  priest.1  —  A.  P.  S.] 

In  the  first  compartment  we  see  the  funeral  of  the  nurse. 
The  body,  covered  by  a  large  yellow  pall,  is  borne  on  a  bier 
carried  by  four  men.  At  the  head  walks  the  priest,  clothed 
in  a  white  close-fitting  robe,  adorned  with  a  crimson  chasu¬ 
ble,  bearing  in  his  right  hand  a  book,  and  in  his  left  the 
brush  for  sprinkling  holy  water.  He  is  followed  by  a  sec¬ 
ond  priest,  in  a  green  dress,  bearing  a  huge  lighted  taper ; 
the  legend  at  foot  runs  thus  :  Nutricis  funns  reliquis  sui 
flacra  minatur.  The  next  medallion  represents  the  son  at 
the  point  of  death  stretched  on  a  bier.  The  priest  at  the 
head  anoints  the  body  with  holy  water,  and  on  the  forehead 
of  the  child  is  the  Viaticum,  or  Sacred  Wafer.  On  a  raised 
bench  at  the  side  sits  the  mother,  absorbed  in  deep  grief,  and 
by  her  side  the  father,  wringing  his  hands  and  gazing  sor¬ 
rowfully  at  his  expiring  child ;  the  legend  attached  is,  Per- 
cntitur  puer  moritur  planctus  geminatur.  In  the  next  com¬ 
partment  of  the  group  the  mother  stands  at  the  head  of  the 
bier,  raising  and  supporting  her  son’s  head,  whilst  the  father 
pours  between  the  clinched  lips  the  wonder-working  blood 
1  Benedict,  iii.  62. 


CURES  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  ST.  THOMAS.  351 


and  water  of  St.  Thomas.  A  short  distance  from  the  bier 
stand  the  pilgrims,  reverently  gazing  upon  the  scene,  each 
with  his  pilgrim’s  staff  and  bottle  of  “  water  of  St.  Thomas  *  ” 
the  legend  at  foot  runs,  Vox  patris  —  vis  martiris  ut  resti- 
tuatur.  The  vow  so  fatally  delayed  forms  the  subject  of  the 
next  medallion.  The  boy  is  still  reclining  on  the  bier  ;  the 
mother  is  caressing  her  son  with  one  hand,  whilst  with  the 
other  outstretched  she  gives  to  the  father  the  Quatuor 
argenteos ,  which  he  demands,  and  vows  to  the  saint. 

The  neighboring  compartment  shows  the  son  upon  a 
couch,  fast  recovering,  feeding  himself  with  a  spoon  and 
basin.  The  parents  are  placed  at  each  end  of  the  couch  in 
an  attitude  of  thanksgiving.  The  following  cartoon  shows 
the  old  man  struck  with  leprosy  and  bedridden.  The  Mar¬ 
tyr,  dressed  in  full  robes,  stands  at  the  bedside,  and  charges 
him  with  the  warning  to  the  parents  of  the  child  not  to 
neglect  the  performance  of  the  vow.  In  the  next  portion  of 
the  group  the  leper  is  represented  in  bed,  conveying  to  the 
parents,  who  stand  in  deep  attention  at  the  bedside,  the 
warning  with  which  he  has  been  charged  by  Saint  Thomas. 
The  leprosy  of  the  sick  man  is  very  curiously  shown  ;  the 
legend,  Credulus  accedis  .  .  .  vot  .  %  .  fert  nec  obedit.  And 
now,  forming  the  central  medallion  of  the  group,  and  the 
most  important,  is  depicted  the  vengeance  of  the  saint 
for  the  slighted  vow  and  neglected  warning.  In  the  centre 
of  a  large  apartment  stands  a  bier,  on  which  is  stretched 
the  victim  of  the  saint’s  wrath.  At  the  head  and  feet  of 
the  corpse,  leaning  on  large  chairs  or  thrones,  are  the  father 
and  mother,  distracted  with  grief,  the  latter  with  uncovered 
head  and  naked  feet  gazing  with  deep  despondency  on  her 
dead  child.  Behind  the  bier  are  seen  several  figures  in  un¬ 
usually  violent  attitudes  expressive  of  grief,  from  which  cir¬ 
cumstance  they  are  probably  professional  mourners  ;  whilst 
unseen  by  the  persons  beneath,  the  figure  of  Saint  Thomas 
in  full  pontificals  is  appearing  through  the  ceiling.  He 
bears  in  his  right  hand  a  sword,  and  points  with  his  left  to 
the  dead  body  of  the  victim  upon  the  bier.  It  is  singular 


352  CURES  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


that  Becket  is  always  represented  in  full  episcopal  costume, 
when  appearing  in  dreams  or  visions,  in  these  windows.  The 
legend  attached  to  this  light  is,  Vindicte  moles  —  Domus 
egra  — -  mortua  'proles. 

The  last  medallion  of  the  group  represents  the  final  ac¬ 
complishment  of  the  vow.  The  father  is  seen  bending  rev¬ 
erently  before  the  altar  of  the  saint,  offering  to  the  attend¬ 
ant  priest  a  large  bowl  filled  with  broad  gold  and  silver 
pieces.  Near  him  is  the  mother,  holding  by  the  hand  the 
son  miraculously  recalled  to  life.  In  token  of  their  pilgrim¬ 
age,  both  the  mother  and  son  hold  the  usual  staves.  The 
expression  of  the  various  figures  in  the  above  compartments, 
both  in  gesture  and  feature,  is  rendered  with  great  skill. 
In  the  execution  of  this  story  the  points  which  doubtless 
the  artists  of  the  monastery  were  chiefly  anxious  to  impress 
upon  the  minds  of  the  devotees  who  thronged  to  the  shrine 
are  prominently  brought  out :  the  extreme  danger  of  delay¬ 
ing  the  performance  of  a  vow,  under  whatever  circumstances 
made ;  the  expiation  sternly  required  by  the  saint ;  and  the 
satisfaction  with  which  the  Martyr  viewed  money  offerings 
made  at  his  shrine. 

The  fulness  with  which  the  last  group  has  been  described 
will  render  it  less  necessary  to  speak  at  length  of  the  rest 
of  the  window,  as  similar  miracles  described  by  Benedict 
are  in  the  same  minute  manner  represented. 

The  group  above  should  consist  of  two  miracles,  —  the 
first  described  by  Benedict,1  wherein  Robert,  a  smith  from 
the  Isle  of  Thanet,  is  miraculously  cured  of  blindness.  In 
a  dream  he  is  directed  by  Becket  to  repair  to  Canterbury, 
where  a  monk  should  anoint  his  eyes  and  restore  his  sight ; 
and  he  is  seen  stretched  in  prayer  at  the  priest’s  feet  in 
front  of  the  altar.  In  another  medallion  the  priest  anoints 
his  eyes  with  the  miraculous  blood,  and  his  sight  is  restored. 
In  another,  Robert  is  seen  offering  at  the  altar  a  large  bowl 
of  golden  pieces,  in  gratitude  for  the  saint’s  interference. 

The  next  group  proves  that  not  only  offerings  and  prayers 
1  Benedict,  i.  36. 


CURES  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  ST.  THOMAS.  353 


were  made  at  the  shrine,  but  also  severe  penances  were  per¬ 
formed.  In  one  compartment  a  kneeling  female  figure  is 
bowing  herself  to  the  ground  before  the  priest  at  the  altar, 
who  is  receiving  a  large  candle  apparently  offered  by  her, 
holding  a  book  in  his  left  hand,  whilst  two  men,  armed 
with  long  rods,  stand  by.  In  the  next  medallion  the  female 
figure  is  being  violently  beaten  by  the  two  men  with  the 
rods,  one  of  whom  stands  on  either  side  of  her. 

In  the  third,  though  the  woman  is  falling  fainting  to 
the  ground,  one  of  the  figures  is  still  striking  her  with  the 
scourge.  The  other  figure  is  addressing  the  priest,  who  is 
sitting  unmoved  by  the  scene,  reading  from  the  book ;  a 
figure  is  standing  by  with  a  pilgrim’s  staff,  looking  at  the 
flagellation,  much  concerned.  A  legend  is  attached,  Stat 
modo  jocunda  lapsa  jacet  moribunda. 

In  the  other  two  windows  may  be  traced  many  of  the 
multifarious  miracles  described  by  Benedict,  and  by  him 
thus  summed  up  : 1  “  Quae  est  enim  in  Ecclesia  conditio, 
quis  sexus  vel  aetas,  quis  grad  us  vel  ordo,  qui  non  in  hoc 
thesauro  nostro  aliquid  sibi  utile  inventiat  1  Administrate 
huic  schismaticis  lumen  veritatis,  pastoribus  timidis  con¬ 
fidents,  sanitas  aegrotantibus,  et  paenitentibus  veniat  ejus 
meritis  coeci  vident,  claudi  ambulabunt,  leprosi  mundantur, 
surdi  audiunt,  mortui  resurgunt,  loquuntur  muti,  pauperes 
evangelizantur,  paralytici  convalescunt,  detumescunt  hodro- 
pici,  sensui  redonantur  amentes,  curantur  epileptici,  feb- 
ricitantes  evadunt,  et  ut  breviter  concludatur,  omnimoda 
curatur  infirmitas.” 


1  Benedict,  i.  2. 


G.  A. 


354  BECKET’S  SHRINE  IN  PAINTED  WINDOW. 


NOTE  I. 

REPRESENTATION  OF  BECKET’S  SHRINE  IN  ONE  OF 

THE  PAINTED  WINDOWS  IN  CANTERBURY  CATHE¬ 
DRAL.  (See  p.  264.) 

The  accompanying  view  of  the  Shrine  of  Becket  is  en¬ 
graved  from  a  portion  of  a  painted  glass  window  of  the  thir¬ 
teenth  century,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Trinity  Chapel  in 
Canterbury  Cathedral.  It  is  one  of  a  group  of  medallions 
representing  a  vision  described  by  Benedict 1  as  having  been 
seen  by  himself.  Becket  is  here  shown  issuing  from  his  shrine 
in  full  pontificals  to  go  to  the  altar  as  if  to  celebrate  Mass. 
The  monk  to  whom  the  vision  appears  is  lying  in  the  fore¬ 
ground  on  a  couch.  The  shrine,  by  a  slight  anachronism,  is 
represented  as  that  erected  subsequently  to  the  vision ;  and 
this  representation  is  the  more  valuable  as  being  the  only 
one  known  to  exist ; 2  for  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the 
drawing  in  the  Cottonian  MS.  does  not  attempt  to  represent 
the  shrine,  but  only  the  outside  covering  or  case.  The  me¬ 
dallion  is  the  more  interesting  from  being  an  undoubted 
work  of  the  thirteenth  century ;  and  having  been  designed 
for  a  position  immediately  opposite  to  and  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  shrine  itself,  and  occupying  the  place  of  honor 
in  the  largest  and  most  important  window,  without  doubt 
represents  the  main  features  of  the  shrine  faithfully. 

The  view  will  be  found  to  tally  in  a  singular  manner 
with  the  description,  though  not  with  the  sketch  in  the 
Cottonian  MS.,  given  on  page  267. 

In  the  drawing  upon  the  glass  cartoon,  the  shrine, 
shaped  like  an  ark,  was  placed  upon  a  stone  or  marble 
platform  which  rested  upon  arches  supported  by  six  pillars, 
—  three  on  either  side.  The  space  between  these  pillars 

1  Benedict,  i.  2. 

2  I  am  told  by  the  Dean  of  Ely  that  it  nearly  resembles  a  structure  in 
Ely  Cathedral,  of  unknown  origin,  forming  part  of  the  tomb  of  Bishop 
Ho th am.  —  A.  P.  S. 


o  Ms t  urar  m  at  hkqto  m  a 


356  BECKET’S  SHRINE  IN  PAINTED  WINDOW. 

was  open,  and  it  was  between  them  that  crippled  and  dis¬ 
eased  pilgrims  were  allowed  to  place  themselves  for  closer 
approximation  to  the  Martyr’s  body,  as  mentioned  by  Bene¬ 
dict.  This  could  not  have  been  the  case  had  the  Cottonian 
drawing  been  correct,  as  no  spaces  are  there  given,  but  only  a 
few  very  small  openings.  But  in  the  glass  painting  it  is 
clearly  delineated,  as  the  pillar  of  the  architectural  back¬ 
ground,  passing  behind  the  shrine,  is  again  shown  in  the 
open  space  below.  This  platform  was  finished  at  the  upper 
edge  by  a  highly  ornamented  cornice,  and  upon  this  cornice 
the  wooden  cover  of  the  shrine  rested. 

The  shrine  was  built  of  wood,  the  sides  and  sloping 
roof  of  it  being  ornamented  with  raised  bands,  or  ribs,  form¬ 
ing  quatrefoils  in  the  middle,  and  smaller  half-circles  along 
the  edges.  This  mode  of  ornamentation  was  not  uncom¬ 
mon  at  that  date,  as  is  shown  upon  works  of  the  kind  yet 
remaining. 

Inside  the  quatrefoils  and  semicircles  so  formed  were  raised, 
in  like  manner,  ornaments  resembling  leaves  of  three  and 
five  lobes,  the  then  usual  ornament.  The  wooden  boards 
and  raised  bands  and  ornaments  were  then  covered  with 
plates  of  gold,  and  on  the  raised  bands  and  ornamented 
leaves  were  set  the  most  valuable  of  the  gems.  The  won¬ 
drous  carbuncle,  or  Regale  of  France,  was  doubtless  set  as  a 
central  ornament  of  one  of  the  quatrefoils. 

The  plain  golden  surface  left  between  the  quatrefoils 
and  semicircles  then  required  some  ornament  to  break  the 
bright  monotonous  surface ;  and  it  was  apparently  covered 
with  a  diagonal  trellis-work  of  golden  wire,  cramped  at  its 
intersections  to  the  golden  plates,  as  shown  in  the  engraving. 
It  was  to  this  wire  trellis-work  that  the  loose  jewels  and 
pearls,  rings,  brooches,  angels,  images,  and  other  ornaments 
olfered  at  the  shrine,  were  attached. 

In  the  interior  rested  the  body  of  Becket,  which  was 
exposed  to  view  by  opening  a  highly  ornamented  door  or 
window  at  the  ends.  The  saint  is  emerging  through  one 
of  these,  in  the  view. 


BECKET’S  SHRINE  IN  PAINTED  WINDOW.  357 


These  windows  wTere  occasionally  opened,  to  allow  pil¬ 
grims,  probably  of  the  highest  orders,  who  were  blind  or 
deaf,  to  insert  their  heads. 

The  ridge,  or  upper  part  of  the  roof,  was  adorned  with 
large  groups  of  golden  leaves. 

On  comparison  of  the  engraving,  as  thus  explained,  wfith 
the  description  given  in  the  Cottonian  MS.,  no  discrepancy 
will  be  found  ;  but  the  drawing  appears  to  be  only  a  simple 
outline  approximating  to  the  general  form,  or  perhaps  only 
of  the  wooden  cover,  but  even  that  must  have  been  orna¬ 
mented  in  some  degree. 

G.  A. 

The  treatise  of  Benedict,  to  which  allusion  has  several 
times  been  made  in  these  pages,  is  a  document  of  consider¬ 
able  interest,  both  as  containing  a  contemporary  and  detailed 
account  of  these  strange  miracles,  and  also  as  highly  illus¬ 
trative  of  the  manners  of  the  time.  On  some  future  occasion 
I  may  return  to  it  at  length.  I  will  here  confine  myself 
to  a  few  particulars,  which  ought  to  have  been  incorporated 
into  the  body  of  the  work. 

The  earlier  shrine  in  the  crypt  has  nowhere  been  so  fully 
described.  It  was  first  opened  to  the  public  gaze  on  April 
2,  1171. 1 

The  body  of  the  saint  reposed  in  the  marble  sarcophagus 
in  which  it  had  been  deposited  on  the  day  after  the  murder. 
Bound  the  sarcophagus,  for  the  sake  of  security,  was  built 
a  wall  of  large  hewn  stones,  compacted  with  cement,  iron, 
and  lead.  The  wall  rose  to  the  height  of  a  foot  above  the 
coffin,  and  the  whole  was  covered  by  a  large  marble  slab. 
In  each  side  of  the  wall  were  two  windows,  to  enable  pil¬ 
grims  to  look  in  and  kiss  the  tomb  itself.  In  one  of  these 
windows  it  was  that  Henry  laid  his  head  during  his  flagella¬ 
tion.  It  was  a  w7ork  of  difficulty — sometimes  an  occasion 
for  miraculous  interference  —  to  thrust  the  head,  still  more 
the  body,  through  these  apertures.  Some  adventurous  pil- 


1  Benedict,  i.  30. 


358  BECKET’S  SHRINE  IN  PAINTED  WINDOW. 


griras  crawled  entirely  through,  and  laid  themselves  at  full 
length  in  the  space  intervening  between  the  top  of  the  sar¬ 
cophagus  and  the  superincumbent  slab ;  and  on  one  occasion 
the  monks  were  in  considerable  apprehension  lest  the  in¬ 
truder  should  be  unable  to  creep  out  again.1 

The  tomb  — •  probably  the  marble  covering  —  was  stuck 
all  over  with  tapers,  —  the  offerings  of  pilgrims,  like  that  of 
Saint  Badegonde  at  Poitiers ;  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  crypt 
and  the  draughts  from  the  open  windows,  it  was  a  matter  of 
curiosity  and  importance  to  see  which  kept  burning  for  the 
longest  time.2  Votive  memorials  of  waxen  legs,  feet,  arms, 
anchors,  hung  round.3  A  monk  always  sat  beside  the  tomb 
to  receive  the  gifts,  and  to  distribute  the  sacred  water.4 

The  “  water  of  Canterbury,”  or  “  the  water  of  St.  Thomas,” 
as  it  was  called,5  was  originally  contained  in  small  earthen¬ 
ware  pots,  which  were  carried  awTay  in  the  pouches  of  the 
pilgrims.  But  the  saint  played  so  many  freaks  with  his 
devotees  (I  use  the  language  of  Benedict  himself6),  by 
causing  all  manner  of  strange  cracks,  leaks,  and  breakages 
in  these  pots,  that  a  young  plumber  at  Canterbury  con¬ 
ceived  the  bold  design  of  checking  the  inconvenience  by 
furnishing  the  pilgrims  with  leaden  or  tin  bottles  instead. 
This  was  the  commencement  of  the  “  ampulles  ”  of  Canter¬ 
bury,  and  the  “  miracles  of  confraction  ”  ceased.7 

The  water  was  used  partly  for  washing,  but  chiefly  (and 
this  was  peculiar8  to  the  Canterbury  pilgrims)  drunk  as  a 
medicine.  The  effect  is  described  as  almost  always  that  of 
a  violent  emetic.9 

A.  P.  S. 

1  Benedict,  i.  40,  41,  53,  54,  55.  2  Ibid.,  ii.  13. 

3  Ibid.,  i.  77;  ii.  7,  44.  4  Ibid.,  iii.  41,  58. 

5  Ibid.,  i.  42,  43. 

6  Jucundum  quoddam  miraculum,  i.  43;  Ludus  Marty ris,  i.  43;  Jucun- 
ditatis  Miracula,  i.  46. 

7  Benedict,  ii.  35.  8  Ibid.,  i.  13. 

9  Ibid.,  i.  33,  34,  84  ;  ii.  30  ;  iii.  69. 


INDEX, 


Aberbrothock,  228. 

Alfege,  Saint,  tomb  of,  77,  225. 

Augustine,  Saint,  mission  of,  30  ;  landing  at  Ebbe’s  Fleet,  32,  33 ;  inter¬ 
view  with  Ethelbert,  36-39  ;  arrival  at  Canterbury,  40 ;  Stable-gate, 
41;  baptism  of  Ethelbert,  41;  worship  at  St.  Pancras,  42;  monas¬ 
tery,  library,  etc.,  of,  46  ;  foundation  of  Sees  of  Rochester  and  Lon¬ 
don,  49  ;  death,  50  ;  effects  of  his  mission,  53  ;  character,  59,  60. 

Augustine’s,  St.,  Abbey,  46,  83,  221,  224,  232,  257. 

Avranches,  Cathedral  of,  136. 

Becket,  sources  of  information,  69,  70  ;  return  from  France,  70,  con¬ 
troversy  with  Archbishop  of  York,  71  ;  parting  with  Abbot  of  St. 
Albans,  74;  insults  from  Brocs  of  Saltwood,  75;  scene  in  cathedral 
on  Christmas  Day,  76  ;  the  fatal  Tuesday,  84  ;  appearance  of  Becket, 
86 ;  interview  with  knights,  88-94 ;  retreats  to  cathedral,  94 ;  mir¬ 
acle  of  lock,  96 ;  scene  in  cathedral,  97  ;  entrance  of  knights,  98  ; 
“The  Martyrdom,”  101-109;  watching  over  his  dead  body,  110; 
discovery  of  hair  shirt,  112  ;  unwrapping  his  body,  115-117  ;  burial, 
117  ;  canonization,  119;  effect  of  martyrdom  and  spread  of  his  wor¬ 
ship,  226-232;  shrine  erected,  236;  translation  in  1220,  242;  well, 
272,  305,  314;  abolition  of  festival,  287;  trial,  289-292;  destruction 
of  shrine,  294,  315. 

Benedict,  69,  232. 

Bertha,  34,  51. 

Black  Prince,  birth  of,  152;  qualities,  153;  education  at  Queen’s 
College,  153,  215;  name  given,  160;  visits  Canterbury,  164;  well  at 
Harbledown,  164;  marriage,  165;  chantry  in  crypt,  165;  Spanish 
campaign,  166;  return  —  illness,  167;  appears  in  parliament,  168; 
death-bed,  168;  exorcism  by  Bishop  of  Bangor,  170;  death,  171; 
mourning,  171,  172;  funeral,  173-176,  203;  tomb,  177;  effect  of 
life,  181-183  ;  ordinance  of  Chantries,  187 ;  will,  194. 

Bohemian  Embassy,  243. 

Bret,  or  Brito,  80,  111,  132,  229. 

Broc  family,  73,  75,  77,  83,  84,  109. 


360 


INDEX. 


Canterbury  Cathedral,  first  endowment  of,  44 ;  primacy,  53,  54 ; 
scene  in,  76,  77 ;  at  the  time  of  the  murder,  98-101  ;  desecration  and 
reconsecration  of,  118;  King  Henry’s  penance  in,  137;  historical 
lessons  of,  143;  tombs  in,  151  ;  Black  Prince’s  visit  to,  164;  insig¬ 
nificance  before  murder  of  Becket,  220;  Pilgrims’  entrance  to,  258; 
crypt,  261  ;  Shrine,  265,  267,  293,  294. 

Chaucer’s  Canterbury  Tales,  245-250. 

Chequers  Inn,  255. 

Chichele,  152,  181,  182. 

Colet,  Dean,  280-285. 

Cranmer,  288. 

Crescent,  266,  343. 

Cressy,  battle  of,  155-159. 

Crown,  Becket’s,  265,  331. 

Ebbe’s  Eleet,  32-34,  63. 

Edward  I.,  276,  277. 

Erasmus,  280-285,  300. 

Ethelbert,  King,  34 ;  interview  with  Augustine,  34-39 ;  baptism  of, 
41 ;  death  of,  52. 

Fawkes’  Hall,  166. 

Fitzranulph,  126. 

Fitzurse,  80,  88. 

Gorham  in  Normandy,  135. 

Gregory  the  Great,  character,  26,  27  ;  dialogue  with  Anglo-Saxon 
slaves,  28-30 ;  effects  on  English  church,  53-56. 

Harbledown,  167,  252,  284,  324;  Black  Prince’s  well  at,  164. 
Harrow,  Becket  parts  with  Abbot  of  St.  Albans  at,  74 ;  vicar  excom¬ 
municated,  77. 

Henry  II.,  fury,  79;  remorse,  134;  penance,  134-142;  death,  240. 
Henry  III.,  239. 

Henry  IV.,  176. 

Henry  VIII.,  291,  292,  300. 

Inns  for  pilgrims,  255. 

Isabella,  Queen,  276. 

John,  King  of  England,  79,  234. 

John,  King  of  France,  160,  162,  276,  323. 

Jubilees,  253,  275,  286. 

Langton,  239,  301 
Limoges,  siege  of,  183. 

Lollards,  278. 


INDEX. 


361 


London,  See  of,  49,  54,  72 ;  pilgrims’  approach  from,  245 ;  worship  of 
Becket  in,  230. 

Louis  VII.,  270,  323. 

Lyons,  Chapel  of  St.  Thomas  at,  227. 

Malling,  South,  turning  table  at,  120. 

Martin’s,  St.,  Church,  40,  61. 

Mary,  Queen,  292,  295. 

Miracles,  96,  120,  337,  348,  351,  352,  358. 

Montreuil,  visit  of  Madame  de,  293. 

Moreville,  Hugh  de,  80,  109,  229. 

Pancras,  St.,  Church  of,  43. 

Pilgrims,  241,  265,  351. 

Pilgrims’  Road,  244,  316. 

Pilgrims’  signs,  272-274,  358. 

Poitiers,  battle  of,  160-164. 

Queen’s  College,  Oxford,  153,  215. 

Reculver,  45,  52. 

Regale  of  France,  270,  295. 

Richard  II.,  338. 

Richborough,  33,  39. 

Rochester,  foundation  of  See  of,  49. 

Saltwood  Castle,  73,  83. 

Sandwich,  71,  243,  310. 

Sens,  227,  235. 

Southampton,  Henry  II.  arrives  at,  139  ;  pilgrims’  approach  from,  244. 
Stable-gate,  41. 

Sudbury,  Simon  of,  152,  175,  279. 

Sword,  of  Bret,  107,  229  ;  of  Moreville,  229  ;  of  the  Black  Prince,  177. 

Tabard  Inn,  249. 

“  Thomas,”  name  of,  229. 

Tracy,  80,  126. 

Verona,  Church  of  St.  Thomas  at,  227. 

William  the  Englishman  and  of  Sens,  235. 

William  Thomas,  314. 

William  the  Lion,  228. 

Wilsnake,  338. 

Wycliffe,  155,  215. 

York,  controversy  with  Archbishop  of,  72,  73, 


